One Missed Strike: Tales From the Empire
by Davin Sunrider
Summary: (Original Trilogy AU) Oneshot collection set between 'One Missed Strike' Parts II and III. Featured stories: 'Traitor's Trial', 'Misdirection', 'Allies of Convenience', 'Death, Lies, and Treachery', and 'Power Behind the Throne'.
1. Traitor's Trial

**Traitor's Trial**

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again; you Skywalkers are one messed-up family."

Luke Skywalker laughed lightly at Han Solo's statement, shifting slightly in his seat next to the computer console in the _Millennium Falcon_'s main hold. Han was sitting behind the gameboard with Princess Leia, one arm around her shoulders, a characteristic smirk on his face. Leia smiled wryly at his comment.

From where he stood waist-deep in a service panel at the back of the hold, Chewbacca growled his agreement. The Wookiee was repairing one of the temperamental _Falcon_'s systems, which was apparently an ongoing job.

Luke thought to himself that it was unlikely the battered freighter had been in perfect condition since it had left the factory, though it was what gave the starship some of its character. The _Falcon_ just wouldn't be the _Falcon_ if something didn't need fixing or upgrading.

The _Falcon_ was docked in the hangar of _Home One_, the Alliance flagship, and the small group was gathered here for a short break away from all the bustle of activity outside. The fleet was preparing to move to a new hiding place, and there was little any of them could do to help in this, so they were staying out of the way.

Luke and Leia had just finished telling Han and Chewie the story of what had happened to them on Bespin, and after a few questions, Han had given his predictably irreverent assessment of the situation.

Han drummed his fingers on the table in front of him. "So, you guys are twins, huh? Three years you knew each other, and nobody ever figured it out."

Leia frowned. "My parents knew, but they didn't want to tell me. I don't like it, but I can see why now." She looked over at Luke. "I have to say, I'm happy to know who my real mother was, but I can still hardly believe Vader is…"

He nodded slowly, the fingers of his natural hand playing with the dark brown fabric of his outer robe. He had known almost his entire life that the Emperor was his father, and he still had trouble believing it sometimes.

Leia's statement about their mother provoked a twinge of guilt in Luke; he had still not told anyone else about what Vader had said to him at the end of their duel. He privately didn't dare let himself hope about actually meeting his mother, and he didn't want to give false hope to his sister, either. He was still undecided on whether he believed bringing someone dead back to life with the Force was even possible. Even if it _was_ possible, should it be done anyway? Such a thing was unnatural, and more than a little disturbing to think about, especially if it was Vader doing it.

"So," he said to Leia, partly to distract himself from that line of thought, "have Bail and the others decided what they're going to do with Mara yet?"

She shook her head. "Admiral Ackbar wants to accept her defection, but my fath… Bail Organa and Mon Mothma want to try her for war crimes instead."

"I can kinda see their point," said Han. "Whether she's really switched sides or not, Mara is still responsible for a lot of Rebel deaths. She was feeding Vader information about us for three years. All those people who died at Echo Base might not have if not for her."

Luke sighed, reluctantly agreeing. "They haven't let me in to see her," he said, "but she's feeling pretty depressed right now. I'm afraid she might be willing to just go along with whatever they decide, even if it means execution."

Han looked at him curiously. "If they haven't let you in to see her…" His expression changed to one of realization. "Jedi thing, right?"

Luke smiled despite the situation as he nodded. "Not much they can do to block that." His smile faded, replaced by a serious expression. "She needs all the support she can get right now. Mara has abandoned what was essentially her family. Vader might as well have been her father, and it took a lot for her to decide not to serve him anymore."

Han's expression was also serious as he nodded slowly. "I can't say I'm feeling particularly close to Red right now, myself, but I do see your point."

Luke leaned further back in his chair as he looked around at the rest of the room. The three of them fell quiet for a moment, and Luke took the opportunity to stretch out to see how Mara was doing. He sensed that she was asleep, so he pulled back, noting that she seemed troubled.

He considered going up to check on her, but decided against it. The guards posted outside her quarters had already made it more than plain that they had no intention of allowing him or anyone else inside for any reason without express permission from Admiral Ackbar or Mon Mothma.

* * *

_Mara Jade walked slowly through the halls of the Sith Temple, dressed in the black and dark gray Sith robes she had worn during her training there. Dozens of similarly dressed students passed her in the dark-colored, dimly lit halls._

_Their eyes were all yellow, glowing slightly in the dim lighting, and all of them wore identical expressions of hatred, directed at her. Some could even be described as snarling, their expressions twisted with disgust and contempt._

_From the shadows stepped Darth Nova, his face twisted in rage. Force Lightning crackled between his hands in obvious threat as he watched Mara walk down the long hall. As she passed him, he let two long, twisting fingers of the unnatural electricity lance out and smash into the wall directly in front of and behind her, trapping her in a prison of glowing light for the briefest of instants._

"_Traitor…" he hissed, his voice reverberating throughout the hall. The dozens of other Sith gathered along the edges echoed it in a hateful murmur._

"_Traitor traitor traitor traitor traitor traitor traitor traitor…"_

_Mara took a deep breath, tried her best to ignore them, and continued on through the hall, her footsteps echoing back down to her from the cavernous ceiling far above, hidden in blackness. The overwhelmingly powerful presence waiting at the end of the hall beckoned grimly, tinged with thorough disappointment._

_As Mara looked down at the floor, she realized her long black outer robe had turned to the brown of a Jedi, the rest of her clothing lightened accordingly. The lightsaber at her side was now plated in polished chrome instead of the obsidian black of most Sith weapons._

_Mara took pride in this, silently repeating to herself that she was no longer a Sith. She was now a Jedi, dedicated solely to the Light Side of the Force, not the twisted compromise of Darth Vader and his followers. _

_For a brief moment, Luke Skywalker appeared at the edge of her vision, dressed in his own tan and brown robes. He smiled approvingly, then slowly faded away. Mara drew strength from his familiar, comforting presence._

_The shadows at the edges of the hall seemed to deepen as Mara approached the chamber that had once been the Jedi Council room. For more than twenty years, ever since Darth Sidious and his then-apprentice Darth Vader had destroyed the order that had occupied this building for uncounted decades, that room had held only one chair: the Sith Master's throne, from which he dispensed both lessons and judgment._

_As Mara slowly ascended the staircase leading up to the throne room, it seemed as if the door grew farther away rather than closer. The stairway seemed to swell, growing taller and taller until Mara felt like an insignificant speck beneath its massive walls. Each step toward the burning dark presence behind the door seemed to take more effort than the one before it, until it felt like she was climbing a mountain instead of just a set of stairs._

_Finally, she reached the top, feeling drained and exhausted. The huge gray door slowly split and slid open with a deep, vibrating rumble, revealing a dark, circular room so dim that only vague black shapes were visible, save for a single point of glowing blue light._

_Mara mustered her resolve and marched inside, boldly heading right for the huge black shape of the throne and the tall man seated in it. Shadows obscured his face but for his glowing blue eye, giving no hint as to his expression._

"_I raised you as if you were my own child," Darth Vader's deep voice said from the shadows of the throne. "This is how you repay me, by turning on me and joining with my enemies?"_

_Mara hesitated for only an instant. "You did not raise me as a daughter," she replied firmly. "You raised me as a weapon."_

"_I taught you how to survive," Vader said reproachfully. "Where would you be if not for me? Your parents are long dead."_

_To the side, one of the huge windows draped in heavy black curtains slowly opened, showing a view into a crowded, noisy spaceport. Mara recognized this as her first memory, seeing herself at three years old wandering through the crowd with her red-gold hair in dirty disarray, her clothes stained and torn. The small child looked fearfully up at the towering people who flowed around her, ignoring the tiny girl as they went about their business._

_Mara saw the tall, black-clothed shape of Darth Vader, much younger, move through the crowd, surrounded by a contingent of red-robed Royal Guards. Instead of stopping in front of the small girl huddled against a wall like Mara remembered, the Sith Master moved on through the crowd as if he did not see her.  
_

_Shortly afterward, an ugly, unshaven human man in dirty, rumpled clothes spotted the small girl, and his face split into an avaricious grin. "You'll fetch a good price," he said as he darted forward and clamped a hand over the child's mouth, muffling her startled, fearful outcry._

_The heavy black curtains dropped over the window, and one on the other side of the throne opened, showing Mara as a slightly older girl dressed in rags, her face covered in bruises and her hair raggedly cut short, glaring hatefully up at a tall, unpleasant-looking Twi'lek dressed in long dark blue robes._

"_You'll make a fine slave," the pale-skinned Twi'lek said, grinning hideously. "You just need that spirit of yours good and broken, that's all."_

_With that, he stepped forward and slapped the girl so hard she was knocked right off her feet and into the grimy stone wall behind her. The Twi'lek continued to beat her as the black curtains slowly fell closed, and Mara winced as the possible version of herself screamed in pain and terror._

_Next, another window opened to display Mara at about her present age, standing before the throne of an enormous slug-like Hutt. This version of Mara was almost naked, clad in a pitifully small amount of wispy silk and glittering gold-colored metal, with a collar about her neck attached to a chain that was fastened to the front of the Hutt's throne. This Mara's eyes were dull, her spirit broken, and her face was depressingly expressionless, as if she were merely a shell, uncaring of what happened to her._

_The Hutt boomed a command in Huttese, his huge yellow eyes watching hungrily as the slave began to dance, halfheartedly moving through a clumsy pattern not quite matching up to the music. The Hutt grunted in displeasure and gestured to one of his guards, who shot the slave in the neck. The slave's expression did not change at all as she dropped to the floor, dead. Another servant contemptuously shoved the corpse out of the way as the next dancer began her routine._

_Mara watched the scene in horror, knowing that it was entirely possible. She wanted to think she would have fought more if she really had been in that situation, but she could see the bruises and scrapes on the corpse's body, accompanied by dozens of long-healed scars only partially obscured by crude makeup. That version of her had been through years and years of horrendous abuse, completely broken by a lifetime of being treated as nothing more than an object._

_Mara Jade could think of no worse fate for herself, no more terrifying nightmare course for her life. She shuddered, finally realizing just how close this scene had come to being reality. She remembered the dirty, unkempt man from her real first memories, scurrying away as the huge shape of Lord Vader blocked out the sun overhead._

"_I saw what would happen to you if I did not intervene," the shadowed figure on the throne said. "I sensed your potential, knew you could one day become who you are now." The figure paused. "Who you were," he amended caustically._

_Mara turned from the black curtains that had fallen over her possible fate, looking up at Vader. "I am glad you found me when you did," she admitted. "But think; is the way you treated me really any different? You raised me as an object, too, a weapon you could use against your enemies. Despite the rest of the illusion, was I ever really more than your slave?"_

_Darth Vader slowly stood from his throne, his long black cloak flowing down around him, and took one slow step toward Mara. He seemed huge, more than twice her height, and his grim features came into the light, revealing his darkly threatening expression._

_Mara suddenly gasped in agony as it seemed that searing hot fire coursed through every fiber of her being, burning all the way down to the bone. She screamed, and the air in her lungs seemed to flow out as a gout of flame._

"_If we ever meet again, traitor," Vader's voice said grimly, hammering into her head over the unbearable agony, "this pain will be real."_

Mara Jade gasped as she woke, nearly hurling herself out of the bed in her quarters aboard _Home One_. Her legs tangled in the sheets, and she fell heavily to the carpeted floor, straining for breath and fighting not to scream at the throbbing, burning fire seeming to flow out from the marrow of her bones. Her limbs twisted in pain, contorting uncontrollably. Finally, she screamed, unable to hold it in any longer.

Over the roaring in her ears, Mara heard an urgent voice shouting beyond the doors of her quarters, arguing with another, deeper voice. The door slammed open, and a familiar figure rushed inside.

"Mara?" Luke Skywalker said, his voice filled with concern. "Mara, what is it?"

She was unable to respond, almost unable to breathe over the fire raging within her body. Her hands clawed at the carpet so violently that fibers were ripped loose and lodged in her fingernails. She wanted to cry, to scream, but could make no sound over the pain.

Luke rushed to her side and gathered her into his arms, his eyes meeting hers and looking deep inside. It seemed to Mara as if a cool wave swept over her, washing away the inner fire, as Luke did his best to help her. She clung to him with relief, sobbing uncontrollably.

"It's all right," Luke said soothingly. "It's all right. You're safe now."

Mara buried her face in his chest and let the tears flow. Luke simply sat there with her and held her for as long as she wanted him to, silent and reassuring.

* * *

A while later, once she had regained her composure and cleaned herself up, Mara sat on one of the couches in the main room of the quarters to which she was confined, dressed in one of the plain white jumpsuits she had been given to wear while she was a prisoner aboard the Rebel flagship.

Luke sat next to her, and in the other chairs and couches sat Leia, Han, Winter, and Admiral Ackbar, listening as Mara tried to describe what had happened.

She was severely embarrassed that Luke had seen her in such a moment of weakness, but at the same time she was immensely grateful to him for helping her through it. Though she wanted to deny it, Mara was not entirely sure she could have recovered by herself.

"I'm not sure whether it was just a dream or some sort of vision," Mara said, looking out at the others. "Nothing like that has ever happened to me before."

"You were screaming loud enough that they could hear you outside," said Winter. "I was four rooms over and I could hear you like you were standing right next to me."

"You were screaming in the Force, too," Luke said, his face still tinged with concern. "Both Leia and I could feel it."

From her seat next to Han, Leia nodded, her expression faintly disturbed underneath her own concern.

"Could Lord Vader have done this as some kind of punishment for turning against him?" asked Ackbar.

Mara shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea," she replied. "He could have, but I don't know. For all I know, I could have done this to myself. The Force does strange things sometimes."

"Well," said Han, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees, "_I_ definitely heard that scream, and I am positive something like that can't be faked. No offense, Red, but you just ain't that good an actress." He looked over at Admiral Ackbar. "I don't know how much my opinion's worth, but my vote says we skip the trial and treat the defection as real. I'll say that in front of whoever you need me to."

"This has only confirmed my belief," Ackbar agreed. "I only hope the rest of the Alliance leadership can be convinced." Leia and Winter nodded in agreement.

Mara watched from her seat next to Luke, grateful for the show of support. She only hoped it went as well as they all hoped.

* * *

Despite the others' efforts, a trial was held to decide whether or not to accept Mara's offer to defect to the Alliance. It was held in the briefing room of _Home One_, with the prisoner required to remain in cuffs the entire time, four armed guards surrounding her, with a dozen more spread around the outer edge of the chamber. The security was at the insistence of Borsk Fey'lya, a high-ranking Bothan member of the Alliance, who was arguing against her.

Luke had insisted on defending Mara himself, and he stood in front of her, dressed in his usual robes, freshly cleaned and pressed. He had not yet had time to build himself a replacement for the lightsaber he had lost on Bespin, but today he had no need of a Jedi weapon except as a symbol of the order he represented. In that capacity, Mara's lightsaber hung prominently from his belt. Luke considered it another symbol of his support for her, as well.

He watched as the last of the observers settled into their seats in the circular, amphitheater-like room, dominated by the holoprojector in the center. The walls and benches were white, as was the holoprojector, in contrast to the twinkling black star field visible through the long, wide viewports around the top of the chamber.

Borsk Fey'lya had been allowed to speak first, and he took his station next to the projector, his cream-colored fur rippling in the Bothan indication of contempt as he cast a cold glance in Mara Jade's direction. He manipulated a control on the side of the holoprojector, and it flared to life, slowly scrolling through a long list of names written in blue light.

"These are the names of every Rebel confirmed dead during the Battle of Hoth," Fey'lya began. He was silent for a long moment, letting the names trickle up into the upper node of the projector. Luke recognized many of the names, friends he had lost in the terrible battle.

"They are all victims of that woman," Fey'lya continued, pointing a finger at Mara. "Whether or not she took the action herself, there is no question that Mara Jade must be charged with their murder. This Imperial agent is responsible for all of the death and destruction of that day."

Fey'lya walked in a slow circle around the projector, looking up into the audience. "By her own admission, Agent Jade issued a detailed report on the defenses and condition of Echo Base, a report Darth Vader and his Imperial troops made thorough use of to destroy nearly the entire installation." The Bothan stared up at the audience with anger burning in his violet eyes. "Three transports," he thundered. "_Three transports _made it away from Echo Base out of the dozens that tried to. Because of _that woman_, Darth Vader slaughtered hundreds of our fellow freedom fighters, dealt the Alliance a heavy blow from which we might never recover."

Fey'lya gestured expansively. "My fellow Rebels, Mara Jade may have single-handedly cost the Alliance the war through her actions. Should we really accept such a person into our ranks? Can _anything_ she does now balance out the hundreds of deaths she has caused, wash away all of the blood staining her hands?"

The Bothan looked out across the audience again. "She has come to us with the intention to join our ranks," he said, injecting a heavy dose of revulsion into his tone. "She _claims_ not to serve the Emperor anymore, but from what I am led to understand, that vile man raised her himself. Can bonds of loyalty that strong really be severed so easily?" Fey'lya rippled his fur in disbelief. "I find that very hard to believe."

He gestured at the list of names still slowly scrolling by. "And if we allow this woman into our ranks, what justice is that for her victims? She claims she is _sorry,_" Fey'lya snapped indignantly. "I ask you, fellow sentients, does _sorry_ bring all these beings back to life? Does her being sorry for being an agent of evil for so long make up for years and years of atrocities?"

Fey'lya paused for a moment to build tension. "The answer is _no!_" he thundered. "An apology simply isn't good enough. An apology does not make justice for all those slain and all those who must mourn them. To just blithely accept this woman into our fold would not only be foolish, it would be immoral."

"My friends," he said, his voice going quiet but firm, "the only logical and moral choice available to us today is to reject this killer's attempt to escape justice by trying to join with us. Such a murderer cannot be allowed to roam free among us.

"The only choice we can make and still call ourselves civilized beings furthering the cause of freedom from tyranny is to reject this agent of the tyrant. Not only that, we must make her answer for the death she has caused. We claim to be fighting for freedom and justice in this galaxy. Let us begin by bringing this murderer to the justice she so deserves!"

His final salvo fired, Borsk Fey'lya stepped away from the holoprojector to approving murmurs from sections of the audience. Luke let the calming current of the Force flow through him, washing away the rage that threatened to come boiling to the surface at the enflaming words.

Luke adjusted the drape of his loose-fitting outer robe as he got to his feet and quietly walked to the projector. He spent a long moment looking out over the audience, making eye contact with many of those he knew personally and many more he did not.

"I have killed," he began. "Since I joined the cause of this war, I have ended the lives of many, as have almost all of you. I have with my own hands ended the life of dozens of sentient beings. Why?" He gestured up at the audience. "Why have we killed?"

"I will tell you," Luke said, dropping his hands. "We have killed because we thought we were doing what was right. Because we were doing what we thought was right, our own killings were justified because those we killed were in the service of evil. The offer of freedom is open to all. The offer to do what we think is right is open to all. Those who reject it have forfeited their right to life, have they not?"

Luke heard the troubled murmurings of the audience, and he could feel their doubt, disapproval, and guilt through the Force, flowing down at him like a waterfall.

"Well, let me tell you how the Empire sees us," Luke said quietly. "The sentient beings who see themselves as loyal citizens of the Empire see us, the members of the Alliance to Restore the Republic, as terrorists. They see us as dangerous people working to undermine the legal government of the galaxy, to upset the stability and order brought about by their Emperor. So, they hunt us down. They kill us wherever they can. Are they justified in doing this?"

Luke sensed someone in the crowd about to shout an answer back to him, so he continued before he could be interrupted. "Yes," he said, to shock from the audience. "From their point of view, they are."

"From our point of view, we are in the service of good," Luke continued. "From their point of view, we are in the service of evil. Who is right here? The two sides of this war cannot both be right."

He turned to gesture back at Mara. "From her point of view, she was in the service of good. She was serving the man she viewed as her rightful ruler, the man who had the right to decide what was to be done in this galaxy. From her point of view, she was justified in seeing to it that Darth Vader and the Imperial military were able to kill us, those the Empire views as evil."

"I am sure everyone in this room shares the viewpoint that Darth Vader is an evil man," Luke went on. "But Vader himself does not. The Emperor does not see himself as an evil being; he sees himself as an instrument of good. Darth Vader is doing everything he can to bring peace to this galaxy, by any means necessary. From the highest Grand Admiral to the lowest foot soldier, his followers believe they are doing the same thing. For most of her life, Mara Jade believed she was also working in the interests of peace, in the interest of greater good for the galaxy."

"But was she, really?" Luke asked of the audience. "We would all agree that she was not, but why?" He paused for a moment before he gave the answer. "Because of the methods used by the Emperor, his government, and his agents. Those of us who are gathered under the banner of the Alliance are here because we believe every sentient being has the right to live their own lives without fear of oppression by those entrusted to rule them. Is peace gained through fear of brutal punishment really peace at all?"

"It is not," Luke said firmly. "We are here because we know this to be the truth. We are here because we believe order gained from smashing down those who do not obey is no real order at all. We are here because we do _not_ agree with how Darth Vader is ruling this galaxy."

Luke Skywalker paused for several moments to let this sink in. "Let me tell you," he said quietly but firmly, "so is Mara Jade."

"On Bespin," he went on, "she accompanied the crew of the _Millennium Falcon_ there with the intent of seeing to it that they were captured by the Emperor's forces. In part because of her, true, they were. Mara was, at the time, doing what she thought was right. But she realized that what she was doing was not right at all. She watched as Darth Vader, the man responsible for governing trillions of lives, casually and arbitrarily threw one of those lives away."

Luke paused again for a moment. "In that moment, Mara Jade knew for certain that the man she served was no longer worth serving. She knew what had to be done. She made the only logical and moral choice available to her," Luke said, deliberately repeating Fey'lya's earlier words. "She decided to make sure that that life Lord Vader threw away was not thrown away at all. Mara Jade made sure that my friends were not condemned to a fate she knew they did not deserve.

"She acted in the service of what she now knew was good, and risked her own life to save theirs. Mara walked away from the only life she had known because she knew that it was the right thing, the only moral thing, to do.

"How many of us have done the same thing? How many of us have given up the lives we had before to serve what we knew was a righteous cause? How many of us have abandoned what we knew before to do what we knew was right?" Luke swept his gaze over the audience, making as much eye contact as possible again. "There are those here who have done things that you now know are wrong. There are those of you here who were once in service to the government you now work to overthrow, but where are you now?"

"You are _right here_," Luke said, gesturing boldly at the chamber around them. "You are where you know you can serve the greater good, and now, so is Mara Jade, by her own free will. What right do we have to deny her the chance to redeem herself? Who are we to say who is beyond redemption, unworthy of forgiveness?"

Luke thrust out an arm and pointed at Mara, sitting behind the heavily armed guards at one end of the chamber. "She knows that the course she has now chosen is the right one." He turned his head to meet her eyes across the chamber. "Don't you?"

"Yes, I do," Mara said as she got to her feet. "I know that if Darth Vader continues on his present course of action, his rulership cannot lead this galaxy into the age of peace he says it will. He must be removed, and I will do everything in my power to help the rest of you do this. Whatever you ask of me to prove where my loyalties now truly are, I will do without reservation."

"There you have it," Luke said, gesturing up at the audience. "You have all the evidence you need. You have everything you need to make the only logical and moral choice." He paused for a moment, looking at Mon Mothma, Bail Organa, Admiral Ackbar, and the others. "So make it."

With that, Luke stepped away from the center of the chamber. The audience was silent for a moment, and slowly, several beings began to applaud. Others joined them, and soon nearly the entire audience was applauding or otherwise expressing their approval.

Luke could feel Mara's grateful gaze on him, and he looked back up at her with an affirming smile. He believed in her, loved her, and his own conscience could allow him to do no less than he had done today.

As Luke sat down next to Leia and Han, they both nodded in approval. Han leaned over to whisper to him. "Nice going, kid. I never knew you had it in you."

"I never knew I had it in me, either," Luke admitted just as quietly. "I had no idea of what I was going to say until I started talking."

Han's reply was a knowing smile as he gently clapped Luke's shoulder.

The Alliance leadership adjourned to another chamber to deliberate, leaving the audience to debate on its own. From his seat, Luke could hear a dozen different conversations as a number of people discussed the arguments they'd heard. Some strongly agreed with him, others with Fey'lya, and still others seemed to vacillate, unsure of which argument made more sense to them.

Above and behind him, Mara sat in the center of her wall of guards, who, other than occasionally looking down over the audience, did not move. Luke looked back up at her from time to time in support, but she only occasionally looked back at him, sometimes offering a small smile. The rest of the time, Mara was deep in thought, looking down at her hands or the floor as she herself thought about what had been said.

Finally, the door at the other end of the amphitheater opened, and Mon Mothma walked back in, followed by Bail Organa, Admiral Ackbar, and the others.

The elegant woman approached the central holoprojector and waited until the crowd quieted to begin speaking. She passed a calm, collected glance over the crowd until she finally settled her gaze on Mara, who stood.

"Mara Jade," Mon Mothma began, her voice soft but serious. "You have been the cause of much death. Do you agree that you must answer for this?"

Mara nodded solemnly. "I do."

Luke leaned forward in his seat, waiting to hear the decision.

"As penance for your crimes against the people of the galaxy," Mon Mothma continued, "do you swear to dedicate the remainder of your life to ensuring that every being in this galaxy has the right to enjoy true peace?"

Mara drew herself up straighter, holding her head high. "I swear."

Mon Mothma nodded in approval. "Then it is the decision of this tribunal that you be afforded the chance to perform this penance. You, Mara Jade, by your own decision and that of those of us who lead this movement, are now an official member of the Alliance to Restore the Republic."

At Mon Mothma's gesture, one of Mara's guards turned and unlocked her cuffs. The man put them in a compartment on his belt as he and the other three guards moved away, leaving Mara standing by herself.

Luke was the first to stand up and clap, and he was quickly followed by the rest of the crowd. Even Borsk Fey'lya, a barely restrained scowl on his face, perfunctorily put his hands together twice.

* * *

In one of the observation domes of the Rebel flagship, Mara sat facing the expanse of stars, with Luke sitting next to her on the low couch they'd pulled over to face the viewport. Mara had wanted to talk to Luke in private after the decision, and so they had come here.

"I just wanted to let you know how much what you said today means to me," Mara said, looking over at Luke. "I guess…" she paused for a moment, hesitating. "I guess what I want to ask you is, why?"

Luke was silent for a moment, and she could sense him thinking deeply about something. Finally, he looked up at her and reached over to take one of her hands. "Because I love you," he said, looking deep into her eyes. "And because it was the right thing to do. What you did on Bespin…" He paused for a moment, looking down at his hands.

"I've thought I loved you for a long time," he said quietly. "Ever since we met on Alderaan, really. But that wasn't really love, I know." He looked up at her again, deep emotion in his blue eyes. "That was just… an infatuation, really. For three years, I've thought you were the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and I suppose that was where most of my feelings came from." He paused again, searching for the right words.

"But now I know I love you, truly, because now I know just what kind of person you are. Mara, you… you walked away from your family, from your entire life, to do what you thought was right. I know that had to be the hardest thing you've ever done, but you did it anyway. I can't tell you how much I respect that decision. You have proved that you're a good person, willing to sacrifice yourself for someone else, and that's… that's why I love you."

Mara was silent for a moment, moved deeply by his sincere words. More than that, she could feel how he felt through the Force, and to realize that he could feel that way about her even after all she had done to him and his friends moved her beyond words.

She realized that she felt the same way about him; he may have been infatuated with her for the last three years, but over those same three years, she had come to know him, to know just what sort of man Luke Skywalker was. He was what his father was not, the good person Anakin could have been but chose not to be. For the same reasons he had described, the willingness to do anything for someone he cared about, Mara knew she respected and loved Luke the same way he did her.

Mara knew he could sense all this as she thought about it through the Force, so she opened her mind and soul more fully to him as she leaned forward and embraced him in a gentle kiss.

He opened himself to her in return, and for a long, blissful moment as they embraced beneath the stars, Mara felt like she knew Luke as deeply as he knew himself, and he knew her just as deeply. It was almost as if their souls were joined, two halves of a complete whole brought together at last.

* * *

Later, gathered in the hold of the _Millennium Falcon_, Luke, Han, Leia, Winter, and Chewbacca held their own private ceremony welcoming Mara into the Rebellion's ranks. At Han Solo's suggestion, this consisted of drinking a good bottle of Corellian whiskey he kept stashed away for just such an occasion.

It was a relaxed, casual gathering, and consisted mostly of Han telling the others about some of his more daring escapades during his career as a smuggler. Mara learned something she'd never known about Han before during this conversation; he had once been an Imperial officer himself, a top graduate of the academy at Carida, and had been well on his way to a bright career with the Imperial Navy. But, upon seeing the mistreatment of one of the Wookiee workers, Chewbacca, Han had stepped in and stopped it, disobeying a direct order and even striking his commanding officer in the process.

He was summarily drummed out of the Navy, given a dishonorable discharge, and nearly thrown in prison for doing what he thought was right. It was a similar situation to her own, and she felt a new sense of kinship with the roguish Corellian.

Mara Jade had spent the last few years pretending to be friends with these people, but now, she knew, that friendship was real. This group was willing to believe her, willing to welcome her into their family despite what she had done. She knew she would never be able to show them just how much she appreciated this.

She may have abandoned the family she had known for most of her life, but here she had a better one to take its place.

* * *

-/\-

* * *

Author's Note: This series of oneshots is a follow-up to '_One Missed Strike, Part II_', taking place between that story and the upcoming _'Part III_'. It may be a week or two between updates here, since I am also writing another large story besides this one. This collection will contain three more oneshots, as with '_Tales From the Rebellion_', and they are:

'_Misdirection_': As Mara Jade reveals some surprising secret information to the Alliance High Command, Han Solo begins to suspect that there is another Imperial spy within their ranks. Now, he and his friends must race to outwit and uncover the Imperial agent before the Emperor is alerted to their whereabouts...

'_Allies of Convenience_': Grand Admiral Thrawn is Emperor Skywalker's most trusted officer. But where did he come from, and how did he ascend to the highest military position in the Empire? All this will be revealed through a series of flashbacks as Thrawn and Vader discuss the defection of Mara Jade, and what actions they must now take in light of this.

'_Death, Lies, and Treachery_': Boba Fett, the galaxy's greatest bounty hunter, always gets his target. He has never failed to deliver on a contract, until now. Someone besides Mara Jade thwarted him at Bespin by shooting down his ship, and Fett intends to put all his skill into finding out who it was. No one crosses Boba Fett and lives to boast about it...

These stories and '_One Missed Strike, Part III_' are being written right now. As I said, it may be a couple weeks or more between updates. For now, thanks for reading. Your support of my stories really means a lot to me.


	2. Misdirection

**Misdirection**

There was another spy in the Rebellion's ranks, Mara Jade knew. Vader rarely relied on a single source for information, even when the source had been the Emperor's Hand. She had known it, always knew on every mission that the likelihood she was working alongside another Imperial agent, even when she thought she was operating solo, was extraordinarily high. But if Vader had ever sent backup to make sure she succeeded, he had never given any indication to her that he had done so.

She glanced around the briefing room of the Rebel flagship _Home One_. Over a dozen of the highest ranking officers of the Rebel Alliance, many of them part of the Intelligence division, gathered around the central table, analyzing the huge amounts of data Mara had provided about Vader's operations. All of these men and women had proven their devotion to their cause countless times. Most had lost family to the Imperials, and all had lost friends. At first glance, she could think of none that would even consider betraying them to the Empire.

Then again, they had thought the same of her.

Her green eyes flickered from face to face. No out-of-place beads of sweat, no quivering lips, no attempts to disprove even the most sensitive information she had offered to the inner circle. Mara's fingers drummed on the hilt of her lightsaber as she thought. Even though the Imperials hadn't made any indication that they knew more about the Rebels than they should, Mara knew Vader. There had to be at least one more source he depended on, and she was positive it was someone who held higher rank than a ship mechanic.

General Airen Cracken asked her a question about the secret research installation hidden in the Maw Cluster. As answer, she brought up one of the files on the installation's scientists on a datapad in front of her, then slid it across the table to the man, who immediately descended into a discussion with Admiral Ackbar and General Carlist Rieekan, who sat next to him.

Two guards stood outside the door. She focused. Could they understand what she and the others were saying behind the plated glass and metal? One of them suddenly tilted his head back and opened his mouth while his companion said something with an exaggerated expression. He was laughing, she realized, but the sound was completely muffled. Besides, with the way those two were indiscriminately broadcasting their thoughts around without even an apparent attempt at control, they were either extraordinarily highly trained and extremely talented in misdirection, or they were just two ordinary Rebels.

Mara frowned in disappointment, but resolved to check on them nonetheless. She knew how well she had constructed her own cover, so even though it was unlikely, it was still possible. _Better to be paranoid and turn out wrong than be lazy and turn out dead,_ she thought.

"What about these secret shipyards?" Admiral Hiram Drayson asked. "Miss Jade, you mentioned them briefly before."

Mara nodded, looking over at him as her fingers flickered over the controls to the table's holoprojector. She brought up the images of the shipyards sent to Intelligence in one of the reports by the mysterious Beta Source, an apparent double agent within the Empire who had not yet revealed its identity to the Rebellion.

"Vader is building several Star Destroyers without the knowledge of the rest of the Imperial command, including at least two _Executor-_class ships," Mara said. "I was never involved with it, but I believe it has to do with whatever he and Thrawn are up to in the Unknown Regions. Neither of them ever told me anything about that, though. I only know about this because I overheard Vader and Thrawn talking about it on Bespin."

Several mouths pursed into frowns, but none drew into relief that she had no more information to offer. She scowled inwardly again, but kept her expression passive, giving no indication of her inner thoughts.

"Of course," she said coyly as she twirled her finger over one of the bolts on the table, "we might be able to ask the Beta Source to give us more information about those."

Amid flickers of surprise from the officers around the table -Mara wasn't supposed to know about Beta Source, she assumed- General Cracken adopted a thoughtful expression. "Do you know who it is? The Beta Source?" he asked.

Mara smirked inwardly, but again kept her face calm. "I have my suspicions," she said.

She knew perfectly well that Beta Source was Malysa Kolos, but had decided not to tell anyone about Malysa who didn't already know just yet. She had persuaded the others who'd been at Bespin to do the same; the young Jedi's position was already perilous enough, especially considering Mara's suspicions about another spy.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Admiral Drayson, looking over at Cracken. "For all we know, Beta Source is nothing but a hoax orchestrated by Vader himself. We might be walking into a trap."

"It's better than anything else we have," said Lieutenant Page, leader of a squad of Special Forces commandos. "Mara, is there any way we could contact the Beta Source, or at least know who it is so we know who we're dealing with?"

Mara's eyes narrowed. She had had her suspicious about Page before; he was the son of an Imperial senator, and though the possibility of him being a double agent was slight, it was still there. "You would risk breaking the Beta Source's cover?" she asked, and through the Force, sent a subtle wave to compel him to answer truthfully.

Page shifted his weight and looked down. Mara could sense that her compulsion had made him uncomfortable, which was largely its intended effect. "No," he said awkwardly. "I mean, I don't want to the Source to get caught,"

"We will continue to research these facilities as we are able," Ackbar declared. Mara caught a subtle movement from the admiral, and understood his meaning even without the Force. _Not here, not now_, he meant. _Later_.

She scowled and resumed tapping her lightsaber. She hated waiting.

* * *

None too soon for Mara, Luke, Leia, and the newly commissioned Commander Solo made their way into Admiral Ackbar's office, where he and Mara had been waiting. Luke immediately flashed Mara a smile, and she smiled back, sending him a warm greeting through the Force.

The Calamarian admiral was sitting behind his desk, which was reminiscent of a giant pearl from his homeworld, its lines smooth and rounded. He got to his feet as Luke, Leia and Han entered his office, giving them the Mon Cal equivalent of a smile.

"Your Highness, Commanders," he said in greeting, inclining a flipper-like hand at the chairs in front of his desk.

"There's a spy," Mara said before the trio had sat down in the plush seats and had a chance to ask what the abruptly called meeting had been about.

Leia frowned. "A spy? You're sure?"

Mara nodded. "Vader tends to lean toward 'overkill' strategies. He has always relied on multiple sources of information; even I was rarely his only source."

"Have you seen any indication that there's a spy?" Han asked. "Hidden transmissions?"

Mara frowned. "Well, no, but-"

"Then how do you know there is one?" Han interrupted. He wagged a finger at her. "Are you sure you're not just being paranoid, Red?"

"You're taking this too lightly, _Commander_ Solo," Leia emphasized. "If the spy is even half as good as Mara was, I doubt we'd even know they existed." She glanced at Mara. "No offense."

Mara lifted her hands. "The only reason you found out about me was because I let you."

"Do you have any inkling who it is, then?" Luke asked.

She smirked. "If I did, do you think we'd still be letting them run around?" She saw the little light click in his mind and smiled at his embarrassed expression.

"In any case, we cannot let this continue, especially considering the delicate information regarding the Beta Source," Admiral Ackbar clarified. "Jedi Kolos is playing a dangerous game, especially now that we know her identity."

"We're still keeping her information limited to only the highest levels and those who already know," Mara said. "But if the spy ever found out, they'd be more than happy to report it to Vader. And that would be _extremely_ unpleasant for Malysa."

Han suddenly sat up straighter. "I know how we can see if there are any more spies," he said excitedly.

Ackbar looked over at him curiously. "How?"

Han leaned forward in his chair. "Back in my smuggling days, we thought there was somebody tipping off the Imps about the locations of some of our runs after a few too many Imperial interceptions. So, we doctored up a few phony runs, let the locations slip around the people we thought were the informants, and had somebody wait to see if the Imps showed up."

Leia nodded appreciatively. "You want to do the same thing here."

Han nodded. "Right. We let it get around in the upper echelons that we think we know who Beta Source is, and want to contact them for the possibility of extraction. We circulate a classified list, -obviously not with Malysa's name on it- and if the Empire goes after any of those people, we'll know we do still have at least one Imperial spy in the higher levels of the Alliance."

Ackbar gave the Calamarian equivalent of an amused smile. "Perhaps I ought to transfer you to Intelligence, Commander Solo," he said, his gravelly voice tinged with approval.

"So how are we going to make sure the Empire doesn't suspect this is a trick?" Leia asked.

"We treat the list like we think it's real," said Luke. "Like Mara said, only those of us who already know about Malysa will know the truth. The fewer people who know about this, the better."

"Agreed," Ackbar said, standing. "The four of you will compile the list. As it stands right now, only the five of us and Mon Mothma know Beta Source's true identity. We shall keep it that way during this operation." Ackbar placed his hands on his desk, his expression grave. "We all have much work to do," he said. "I recommend we start this operation as soon as possible."

* * *

"So, who goes on the list?" Han asked.

Luke leaned back in one of the couches in his quarters aboard _Home One_ and drummed the fingers of his cybernetic hand against the padded arm. "I know of a few officers I'd certainly like to put under suspicion, but it has to be believable."

From her seat next to him, Mara nodded. "All of the people we put on the list have to be strong possibilities for Beta Source, otherwise, we're not going to fool anyone. If we put, say, Thrawn or Darth Nova on here, it's going to be obvious it's a trick."

Next to Han, across from Luke and Mara, Leia slowly tapped the side of her datapad thoughtfully. Finally, she spoke, looking at Mara. "Do you know of any officers Vader already has suspicions about?"

The former Emperor's Hand shrugged. "I've spent a grand total of maybe three hours actually talking to Lord Vader in person in the last four years. I spent too much time in deep-cover assignments to be part of his inner circle. Sorry."

Han frowned, absently toying with the tie-down strap of his blaster. "Who were our possibilities for Beta Source when we didn't actually know who it was?"

Leia smiled wryly. "We didn't have _any _serious possibilities; that's why Intelligence was going so crazy over its reports."

Han chuckled. "Now I'm starting to regret thinking of this idea."

Mara looked over at Luke as she propped her head on one hand, reaching out with the other to lightly play with the ends of his nearly shoulder-length hair. "I say we try and get at least one Grand Admiral on this list. I wouldn't be at all sorry to see a few of them go. Zaarin is the first one that comes to mind."

Luke leaned back slightly, and Mara could sense he enjoyed the sensation of her fingers on his neck, but wasn't letting it distract him. He scrolled through the list of high-ranking Imperial officers on his datapad, weighing what he knew about each of them.

"I can think of a few officers who _shouldn't_ go on the list," Luke said. "General Dodonna served with a few of these men in the Army of the Republic during the Clone Wars. He says he wishes Firmus Piett was on our side; he's a good officer and a good man, even though he's fighting for the Empire."

Mara nodded. "I liked Piett. It really is too bad he's on the wrong side."

"How about those Red Guards?" Han asked, tapping at his own datapad. "Intelligence doesn't know their identities, but I figure they're in a position to be believable."

"I _can_ help you there," Mara said. "I knew quite a few of the Royal Guard, and you're right; they're privy to a lot of sensitive information just by being near Lord Vader. Some of them almost function as the same kind of agent I was; I worked with a man named Kanos several times on missions." She frowned. "But we can't use him; there is no way Kir would ever release information to the Rebellion. If anything, he's probably the one Vader will send after the people he suspects if this gets back to him."

Han sighed, putting his arm around Leia's shoulders. "Catching spies is hard work. We don't even know for sure there _is_ another spy here; we just have suspicions right now."

"Oh, there's definitely at least one," Mara said firmly. "Vader said something to make me think another agent is working somewhere in the Alliance at Bespin."

"What did he say?" Leia asked.

"It was when we were making plans on where to take you after Vader left the city," Mara replied. "Thrawn suggested allowing at least one of your group to escape so that we could track them to the fleet, but Vader said he had a way of finding the fleet anyway, so we didn't have to bother."

Han sat up straighter. "He didn't put another damn homing beacon on my ship, did he?" he said, his body tensing as if he intended to run down to the hangar right now and check.

Mara shook her head. "Not that I know of," she said placatingly. "But," she amended, eyes widening in realization, "I know they did board the _Falcon_ to deactivate the hyperdrive, so it _is _a possibility."

Han swore as he jumped to his feet, snatching out his comlink. "I can't believe I didn't think of this before!" he snarled as he punched the keys on the small device. "Chewie!" he barked into the comlink. "Get out the scanners; we might have a bug on the _Falcon_ somewhere."

Mara heard the Wookiee's enraged answering bellow through the device, and glanced at Luke as he stood, ready to go down and help. "I'll send Artoo," he said. "If there's a transmitter on your ship, it'll have to be drawing power from the _Falcon_'s systems to work at any kind of long distance. Artoo can interface with the computer and find out if there's anything there that doesn't belong."

Han nodded, but waved Luke back. "You three stay here and keep working," he said. "We gotta get this done as fast as we can. Lando can help me and Chewie; he knows the _Falcon_ almost as well as we do."

With that, the Corellian hurried out of Luke's quarters, headed down to _Home One_'s hangar bay.

Leia sighed, sinking back into the couch. "Back to work, then."

* * *

As it turned out, there were no foreign devices on the _Millennium Falcon_, but Han, Chewbacca and Lando _did_ find several systems that were on the verge of catastrophic failure. Lando, still feeling some measure of possessiveness toward his former ship, demanded that he be allowed to give the _Falcon_ a complete overhaul. Han reluctantly conceded, on the condition that Chewbacca would supervise.

Lando, dressed in a mechanic's coverall instead of his preferred expensive tailored clothing, was crammed into one of the maintenance hatches, muttering irritably to himself about the condition Han and Chewie kept the _Falcon_ in.

"What is this?" he demanded as his fingers moved across the remains of a long-removed system deep inside the hatch. "Did you two actually have _fluidic systems_ in here once?" he said incredulously.

Standing above him, Chewbacca growled that they indeed had, but had gotten rid of them as soon as possible.

"I didn't think anybody actually sold that junk anymore," Lando murmured around the minilamp clenched between his teeth as he stretched further inside. "I am genuinely sorry I lost you, old girl," he said in apology to the _Falcon_. "These two have not been treating you right at all."

Chewbacca snarled his objection to this, and Lando quickly muttered a halfhearted apology to sate the Wookiee's anger. Chewie was already peevish just from Lando being here; the gambler suspected the Wookiee still hadn't quite forgiven him for what had happened at Bespin.

With 'Commander Han' off working on whatever his assignment from Ackbar was, Lando knew he would at least be able to get some work done even with Chewbacca breathing down his neck the whole time. He figured he owed it to the _Falcon_ for being stupid enough to put her up as stakes in a sabacc game with Han Solo in the first place.

* * *

Over the next few days, as Lando and Chewie worked on the _Falcon_, Han and his group quietly let the list be known among the higher-level officers of Alliance Intelligence, adding that they thought it might be a good idea to work out a way to contact Beta Source and arrange for their extraction before Vader's counterintelligence people caught on.

From that point, all there was to do was wait.

The waiting turned out to be far shorter than they had anticipated. Three days later to be exact, while Leia was eating a quiet dinner with Han, Luke, and Mara in her quarters aboard the flagship, the door buzzed. She, Luke, and Mara instantly jumped to their feet, sensing through the Force that the visitor had more than just a friendly greeting on her mind. Leia, who was closest to the door, moved to open it.

Winter stood outside, and she quickly moved in as soon as Leia stepped aside. "Someone just tried to use the long-range comm unit," she announced to the group. "It was subtle, and we almost didn't catch it, but we did manage to block the transmission before it went out. The access was unauthorized; if we hadn't been watching closely, we might not have detected it at all." She glanced over at Mara. "As you recommended, we did let the transmission last long enough to trace its destination, then cut it off. It was headed for the next sector, where the long-range sensors picked up an Imperial battle group on patrol."

"You catch who was trying to do it?" Han said as he got up.

Winter shook her head. "We did manage to trace the terminal, but the security cameras in that section suffered a 'mysterious malfunction' five minutes before the transmission went out."

Leia looked over at her brother, who nodded slightly before looking over at Mara. "What would be the best thing to do now?" Luke asked her.

"Well, if it was me," Mara said, tapping her fingers on her lightsaber at her side, "and the computer locked me out while I was trying to send a transmission, I'd know someone was onto me right about now. I'd be expecting the whole ship to go into lockdown, so I'd be looking for the quickest way out of here before the fleet jumps to hyperspace."

Han was on his feet and moving for the door. "Tell Ackbar to seal off the fighter bays," he said to Winter. "The last thing we need is to have to chase the spy around out there."

Luke pulled his outer robe straighter as he got up. "We'd better lock down the other hangars, too," he said, absently reaching down to adjust his belt. Leia noticed the almost imperceptible frown when his hand brushed the place where his lightsaber usually hung and found it missing.

"Ackbar has already sent additional guards to all the essential systems in case of sabotage," Winter said, opening the door. She tapped at the keys on her comlink as the group moved out into the hall.

Mara suddenly stopped, and Leia turned to look at her. "What is it?" she said.

The former Imperial agent's face was thoughtful. "Where was the terminal the spy used?" she asked.

"Level 5, section E," Winter replied immediately.

Mara suddenly grinned, and there was something disturbingly predatory about that smile. "You go on and help the others with the lockdown. I think I know where the spy is going."

"You need any help?" Luke asked.

Mara's grin became scarier. "No, I can handle it."

With that, she turned and jogged off through the hall.

"That woman is profoundly unnerving sometimes," Han said, watching her leave. "I'm sure glad she ain't on the other team anymore."

"You and me both," Luke said, also looking after her. He turned and clapped Han on the shoulder. "Come on, we've got work to do."

* * *

Moving quickly but quietly, the Imperial agent slipped into one of the hangar bays of _Home One_, carrying several datachips filled with information on the Beta Source operation and more about the Alliance itself.

The agent crept through the hangar, looking for a ship to steal. It was risky, but it had to be done; this information _had_ to get to Lord Vader as soon as possible, before the Rebels could flee this hiding place. At top speed, the Imperial battle group to which she had attempted to send her transmission could be here in minutes, well before the Rebels could get their fleet organized enough to jump into hyperspace.

All of the X-wings and other fighters aboard the flagship were securely locked down, the agent discovered. If she wanted to send the message, she would have to do it with the comm array on one of the larger ships docked here, like a shuttle or one of the freighters.

Fortunately for the agent, it appeared that Lando Calrissian was working on Han Solo's ship late tonight, as he had been for the last several days; the exterior lights were on, and movement could be heard inside. Beyond the elongated shape of the modified freighter, the hangar doors were wide open, with only a forcefield between her and open space.

The agent hadn't heard any alarms yet, but she knew the Rebels were onto her; they were probably trying to be quiet so as not to let _her_ know that she'd been found out. She scoffed inwardly; as if being locked out of the computer in the first stage of access to the long-range antenna hadn't been enough evidence. Only a rookie would be stupid enough to believe that the long-range comm antenna was under maintenance and couldn't send transmissions right now. '_Sorry for the inconvenience'_, indeed. Somebody was being cute with that one.

Quickly and quietly, the agent moved to the ramp of the _Millennium_ _Falcon_, blaster in hand. Stealing this ship was risky, but she was out of time, and there was no other alternative.

The agent moved up the ramp, blaster at the ready. The interior hold was dim, the lights off, but she could sense that there was someone else inside. Attempting to track the faint sounds of breathing, the agent raised her blaster, finger on the trigger.

"The ownership of this vessel has been in dispute at times," a darkly amused woman's voice said, freezing the agent in place, "but I'm quite sure it doesn't belong to you."

The lights suddenly flared on, and the agent saw Mara Jade sitting behind the gameboard in the center of the hold, her boots propped up on the table and a blaster in her hand, pointed right between the agent's eyes.

"Shira Brie," Mara said, all amusement vanishing from her tone. "A Rogue Squadron pilot, even. I have to say, even I hadn't expected this. We were just hoping to confirm that there _was_ a spy; the fact that you were stupid enough to get caught this quickly is just priceless." She mockingly pretended to think this over for a moment. "Makes me wonder how you managed to avoid getting caught for this long, pulling an amateur stunt like this."

Shira trembled with barely controlled fury, her fingers tightening around her blaster. "Jade, you _traitor_!" she snarled. "I can't believe you would betray Lord Vader like this!"

"So, you knew who I was," Mara said with a calculating expression, her blaster remaining perfectly still. "I've never seen you before, though. Knowing who you really are, that is. So, who are you? Imperial Intelligence? Did Isard plant you here?"

Shira gave her only a stony glare, and to this Mara smirked.

"You might as well tell me now," she said. Her expression shifted to open threat. "Because you _are_ going to tell me."

"Lord Vader is going to be very pleased when I bring him your head," said Shira, her voice low and dangerous.

Mara mockingly pretended to ponder this. "Well, there's a problem with that," she said sardonically. "I happen to like my head right where it is."

She exploded into motion, launching herself out of the acceleration couch right at Shira as she fired with her blaster. Her stun blast missed Shira by millimeters, but Shira's bolt nicked Jade's shoulder.

Ignoring the pain, Mara crashed into the Imperial agent, letting go of her blaster as she pounded the other woman with ruthless efficiency. Shira was well-trained, though, and she managed to counter the blows, trying to squirm away. Mara got an elbow in the chin, and as this jolted her back, Shira snapped out her leg and kicked Mara back into the gameboard.

Shira leaped to her feet, calling upon the Force to pull one of the blasters into her hand, but the quick-to-recover Mara lashed out with a sweep kick and knocked Shira off-balance. Mara jumped up and slammed her fist into the agent's jaw, which in turn knocked the back of her head solidly into the wall. Shira dropped heavily to the deck, unconscious.

"Thanks for your help," Mara said sarcastically toward the cockpit passageway, sweeping her hair back out of her face with one hand. Her shoulder stung with the action, but she ignored it.

Lando stepped into the hold, a blaster in his hand and a smile on his face. "You looked like you had everything under control," he said amusedly. He gestured down at the unconscious spy. "Need any help with that?"

Mara smiled mock-cheerfully as she clapped him on the shoulder. "No, you've got it under control," she said, smirking.

Realizing her meaning, Lando sighed as he holstered his blaster and bent to pick up the spy.

* * *

When Mara entered the observation room outside the interrogation room, she saw Luke staring at Shira Brie through the one-way mirror. Through the Force, she caught a glimpse of what he was thinking: here was, if possible, a woman he was even less likely to have pegged as an Imperial spy than Mara herself. He'd flown several missions with Shira along with the rest of Rogue Squadron, and never before today had she given the slightest indication she was anything other than a loyal member of the Alliance.

On top of that, Shira was also sensitive to the Force. That made two of them who'd managed to hide their abilities from him for several years. Luke sighed irritably, crossing his arms. Mara knew Luke was discouraged about having failed to recognize not just one but _two_ Force-sensitives in the Alliance, but to herself, she thought that it was hardly his fault; Vader knew far more about the Force than Luke did, and had instructed his students thoroughly, especially in areas of stealth and secrecy. Despite Mara's efforts, she knew, Luke had picked up on her Force sensitivity at least once during the three years she'd been undercover, but had assumed it to be merely latent potential, from his comments at the time.

"Has she said anything?" Mara asked as she walked over to him. She had tied back her hair, and it now hung out of her way down her back. She had also bandaged her shoulder, insisting on doing it herself, much to the Alliance medic's annoyance. It hadn't been out of any particular distrust of the man's abilities, though; she just preferred to treat her own injuries when possible. That, and irritating people was always amusing.

Luke shook his head. "Nothing I'd care to repeat."

He smiled as Mara reached over and flicked a lock of hair at his neck. She held up an elastic tie similar to the one in her hair, her green eyes twinkling mischievously.

"You need to borrow one?" she asked teasingly.

"No, thank you," Luke said amusedly. "Why, you think my hair's too long?"

Mara pretended to study his longish sandy blond hair for a moment. "You are starting to look a bit on the scruffy side," she concluded mock-seriously.

"Who's scruffy-looking?" Luke demanded in his best impression of Han, and Mara laughed.

"Well, if you're not going to cut it," she said, moving a bit closer, "maybe you need some braids or something. I think you could pull off a warrior braid or two."

Luke smiled slightly, leaning in closer to her. "You know, I don't think I'm a warrior braid kind of guy," he said softly.

"I didn't think so," she agreed just as softly, one hand coming up to the back of his neck.

Just then, the door to the observation room opened, and Luke embarrassedly moved back, as did Mara.

Lando Calrissian shook his head amusedly, grinning as he walked inside, a datapad under his arm. "A time and a place, children," he said mock-reprovingly.

Luke started to blush, and attempted to cover himself by clearing his throat as he moved over to the gambler. "That the list of questions?" he asked, self-consciously smoothing down his clothes.

Lando grinned obnoxiously at him before holding up the datapad. "Yes," he said, his smile fading into a businesslike expression. "They want Han and Mara to interrogate her while we get Madine over here."

"My pleasure," said Mara, smiling unpleasantly. "I haven't done a good interrogation in a long time."

* * *

Mara slammed open the door to the interrogation room and barged in, glaring belligerently at the woman seated behind the plain metal table.

"All right, start talking," she said impatiently, advancing on Shira as Han Solo closed the door behind him. She gestured to her bandaged shoulder. "You've already put me in a bad mood today, and trust me, you don't want it to get any worse."

Shira Brie only sneered in reaction. "Cheap theatrics, Jade? And I was told you were supposed to be good at this."

Mara shrugged, then reached over, grabbed a fistful of Shira's hair, and smacked her face into the metal table. "Better?" she said with sarcastic sweetness.

Shira leaned back in her chair, nodding slightly as she gingerly touched her nose. A bit of blood had begun leaking from her nostrils, and she glanced at the residue on her fingertips before looking back up at Mara. "More what I'd expect from an Emperor's Hand," she said darkly.

"_An_ Emperor's Hand?" Mara demanded, keeping up the façade of anger as she puzzled over this.

Shira sneered again. "What, you thought you were the only one?" She chuckled derisively. "You thought you were Vader's prize student, privy to all his little interesting secrets?" She scoffed. "You don't know half as much as you think you do."

"Why don't you enlighten us, then?" said Han, sitting down in the other chair. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in deceptive laziness, lifting his brows as further prompt.

"Right," Shira snapped, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm just going to go right ahead and tell you everything you want to know. Where shall I start?"

Mara reached out and slapped the back of Shira's head, provoking an angry glare. "I think you need to speak to us with a little more respect, Brie," she said condescendingly. As Shira seethed, she reached out and did it again.

Shira started to come out of her chair, but Mara grabbed her shoulder and none-too-gently shoved her back down. "None of that now," she said in the same condescending tone. "You really ought to be able to control yourself better."

All this was precisely calculated; if there was one thing guaranteed to make a Sith angry enough to start making mistakes, it was treating them as an inferior. Mara suspected Shira was, in fact, a Sith, possibly even another Emperor's Hand, despite the implications this rose in her mind.

"You're not going anywhere," said Han. "This entire warship knows you're a spy. This entire fleet knows you're a spy. If you tried to escape, you'd have to get through me, her, Luke Skywalker, and a whole lot of Alliance soldiers." He leaned across the table, his voice going low and deadly serious. "And silence just makes the both of us mad."

Shira sneered again, but said nothing.

"Make things a little easier for yourself," Han said. "Start talking. You tell us what we want to know, and maybe I'll tell Mara here to stay away from you. Keep up the silent treatment, and I'll let her loose."

Mara smirked; Han made an excellent interrogation partner.

Shira glared across the table at him. "No," she said, fixing a venomous look on Mara. "I'm not a traitor like you."

"Oh," Mara said mock-woundedly, injecting a heavy dose of sarcasm into her voice, "I'm hurt, I really am." She stopped and placed both hands on the table, leaning uncomfortably close to the Imperial agent. "Where are the bugs you've planted?"

Shira said nothing, silently glaring back at her with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Are there any more of Vader's agents hidden here?" Mara demanded, sending out a powerful compulsion to obey through the Force.

The Imperial agent's mental shields held, though Mara could tell a great deal of effort went into maintaining them.

She sensed Shira gathering the Force to herself in retaliation, so she reached out and flicked her ear with a fingernail, as if reproving a disobedient animal. "Cut that out," she said admonishingly.

Shira's nostrils flared with anger, so Mara did it again. The agent was nearly there now, and much too quickly; she must not have paid enough attention during training.

Despite Shira's increasing rage, Mara knew, just asking questions wasn't going to get them anywhere. Mara scowled, rapidly losing patience with Shira's utter lack of cooperation. _This isn't getting us anywhere,_ she thought. _Time for a different approach_.

Mara delivered another calculated strike. "You know, you're not much of an agent. Lord Vader must have had to relax his standards to let you in. I wasn't even breathing hard after I took you out."

"You're the weak one," Shira sneered, gesturing at the bandage visible beneath Mara's sleeve. "You let these Rebels soften you until you're just as disgustingly cowardly as they are." She leaned forward, glaring right back at Mara. "I am a better Emperor's Hand than you ever were!"

Trying to ignore the flare of anger this provoked in her despite her attempt at control, Mara shook her head in mock disappointment. "I'm afraid not," she said derisively. "See, I never got _caught_." As she said the last word, she slapped the back of Shira's head again.

Shira's eyes blazed with fury, and in that moment Mara knew she was ready. There was only one way to get the information she wanted out of the Imperial agent, and it most definitely wasn't by asking.

Narrowing her eyes in concentration, Mara grabbed Shira's neck just under her chin with one hand and used the Force to push her will inside the Imperial agent's mind, smashing past the faltering shields. She ruthlessly rifled through Shira Brie's memories, extracting what she wanted to know.

Mara heard Luke's voice sharply tell her to stop, but she ignored him, pushing deeper. As if from very far away, she heard Shira screaming in pain at the mental invasion, but she tuned this out, pushing deeper and deeper as she ripped the wanted information out of the agent's mind. There was indeed much Shira knew that Mara had not; for instance, there were at least four others with the title of Emperor's Hand. They were all supposed to be unaware of the others' existence, but Shira had accidentally overheard Grand Admiral Thrawn talking with one of the others, and, curious, had sliced her way into the Sith Temple's computers, intent on finding out more about these potential rivals.

The names remained tantalizingly out of reach, so Mara pushed harder. Shira screamed in agony, but again Mara ignored her, intent on her goal. She pushed harder and deeper, her will like a scalpel that cut away the obstructions in her way.

She was nearly there when she felt Han's hand on her shoulder. "Mara, that's enough!" he said sharply.

"I'm not done!" Mara snarled, shoving him backwards with the Force. She tried to ignore the disruption and push further, but Han grabbed her shoulders with both hands and sharply yanked her away from the Imperial agent.

Furious at the interference, Mara slammed her elbow into Han's face, whirling to strike again.

The sharp _crack_ of bone and Han's startled curse were like a sudden bucket of ice water splashed in her face. Mara froze, staring at the Corellian, who had stumbled against the far wall, one hand pressed to his nose, which was bleeding copiously down the front of his shirt.

Her next blow would have killed him.

Her fist would have next impacted his windpipe with enough force to crush it, then she would have snapped his neck for good measure, next in the sequence of the rapid disable-and-kill maneuver Vader and her other instructors had drilled into her so thoroughly it was almost automatic.

Mara drew in a slow, shuddering breath, realizing just how close she had come to something she would have regretted for the rest of her life- what remained of it, for even the Alliance would surely have executed her for something like this.

The room was quiet. Even Luke's presence, which she had felt through the Force screaming at her to stop earlier, had stilled into shocked silence. She realized her hand was still up, and slowly lowered it. Han stared back at her, his expression a mixture of shock and fury. His other hand, she saw, was on his blaster, frozen in the midst of unsnapping its holster.

Behind her, Shira had slipped into unconsciousness, slumped across the table. Mara stared at her prone form for a moment, then glanced back up at Han.

She opened her mouth for an apology, found she could get no words out, then closed it so quickly her teeth clicked together painfully and dashed from the room.

Luke was waiting with a reproving look on his face, emerging from the traces of the stunned look he'd had just a moment before. "Mara, what did-"

She held up a hand to cut him off. "I know," she said unsteadily. "I… I shouldn't have done that. That was…" Mara sighed, leaning against the wall.

Luke's expression shifted to one of concern. "You still have traces of the Dark Side in you," he said. "It makes it harder to control yourself."

Mara's emotions roiled within her, and she was unable to reply for a moment. "I know, Luke. I…" She trailed off again, and sighed, rubbing her temples with thumb and middle finger. "I did find out that she was the only agent she knew of on board," she said, unable to think of anything else to say. "We have some bugs to find, too."

"All right," Luke said, gently touching her shoulder. "Let's go, then."

* * *

Under Mara's direction, a team of Alliance techs spent the rest of the night and the better part of the next day finding and neutralizing all the bugs Shira had planted around _Home One_. Fortunately, she'd never managed to get one in Admiral Ackbar's office or in the quarters of any of the Alliance leaders, though she had managed to plant not one but three in the briefing room.

General Crix Madine, an Imperial defector, arrived with one of his Special Forces squads and aided in the operation, then took over the interrogation of the prisoner, once she finally regained her wits.

Mara was only too happy to let him; her actions during her own interrogation still troubled her, and she didn't trust herself to be anywhere near the prisoner right now. She had gone to her usual place for quiet introspection and meditation, an observation dome near the rear of _Home One_.

What was wrong with her? She'd abandoned the Sith and all their teachings when she had joined the Rebellion, or so she thought.

Even after she had sworn to change, the fact that her old habits had come surging back so easily disturbed Mara deeply. That she had even then turned and struck Han, a man she'd nearly gotten herself killed trying to rescue, was even worse. Mara thought she had rejected the Dark Side, but apparently, it hadn't rejected _her_.

Before he even lifted his hand to knock on the outer door, Mara knew Luke had come to talk to her. Part of it was the fact that she could sense his presence and even feel some of his surface thoughts at times through their increasingly strong bond in the Force, but it was also the kind of thing he would do; Luke Skywalker was not one to leave a problem -especially one concerning her- unresolved for long.

_Come on in, Luke,_ she sent through the Force, in too much of a somber mood even to use one of her usual teasing nicknames.

As the door opened and Luke walked in, Mara could see that his face was very calm, enviably so, as he walked over to take a seat next to her. Ever since he had come back from training with Master Yoda, he had seemed much more at peace, much more able to keep his own emotions in check. Mara wished she could do that herself; it might have prevented what had happened last night.

"How's Han?" she asked, moving aside on the low couch to make room for him.

"Grumpy," Luke replied with a slight trace of amusement. "You broke his nose, though the surgeon says he can fix it without any permanent damage. I'd stay out of his way for a few weeks, if I were you."

Mara sighed heavily, resting her chin on her knees as she pulled her legs up against her chest. Luke reached over and touched her arm gently.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" he asked.

Mara sighed again as she leaned back into the couch. "Not really, but I suppose I should." She looked over at him. "I used to do that kind of thing all the time when I worked for Vader. I guess I slipped back into the old habits."

Luke opened his mouth to say something, but Mara held up a hand.

"I know it was wrong," she said. "Invading someone's mind like that is a violent process, most definitely a Dark Side technique." She looked off into space. "I never gave it much thought before, since I had always thought anything I did was justified. Vader's philosophy has almost always been that the ends justify the means, and that's how I was brought up. Anything that works is the best solution, even if it means doing something like that."

She was silent for a long moment, but to his credit, Luke said nothing, and let her go at her own pace. He simply sat next to her, silently giving off an air of solidarity and reassurance.

"I've…" Mara had to pause again. "I've done that before," she said slowly. "More times than I care to think about." She looked over at Luke again. "And that's hardly the worst thing I've done at Vader's direction. I spent years in service to that man, doing anything he asked of me, but it was like I couldn't see how wrong all the things I was doing were until I met you and Obi-Wan at Alderaan."

Luke was also quiet for a long moment. "Well, the fact that you know that the Dark Side is wrong and are trying to rid yourself of its influence is what makes you different than Vader," he said finally. "You've already taken the first steps on the right path, but it's not going to be easy."

Mara took a breath and slowly let it out, thinking of how easily she had lost control. "No, it's not."

"But," said Luke, "I'm here for you. Anytime you need help or just want someone to talk to, I'm here." He paused for a moment, a thoughtful expression coming over his face as he looked up at the stars.

Finally, he turned to her again. "I think it's time," he said. "I need to go back to Master Yoda, and I'm going to take you and Leia with me. All of us need to know whatever he can teach us, if we're going to finish this."

"We'll be the only Jedi left," Mara said quietly. "Darth Nova has killed all of the others, I think." She looked up at the star field overhead. "Not many Jedi escaped the original purge by Darth Sidious, but Vader and Nova have hunted down almost all of the ones that did over the last twenty years. Vader has over two thousand Sith, Luke. If he decides to throw them all at us…"

"The Jedi have come back from worse," Luke said. "But even if he had two million Sith, I'd still fight. Even if I can't win, it's still the right thing to do."

Mara allowed herself a small smile at the characteristic Skywalker bravado. "I know. I'm just trying to tell you what we're getting into, here."

Luke smiled back. "Well, as Han would say, never tell me the odds."

"Oh, great," Mara said teasingly. "That's all we need; you taking up Corellian philosophy. Next thing I know, you'll be swaggering around here and grinning at anything female that walks past you."

Luke smiled. "I don't think I'm a 'swaggering' kind of guy, either."

"It's a good thing," Mara replied dryly, knowing he was trying to lift her mood and letting him do it. "You'd probably trip on your robe or something."

Luke laughed out loud. "Oh, is that what you think?" he said as he put his arm around her shoulders.

Grinning, Mara imagined Luke exaggeratedly swaggering down a hallway of the flagship with a big grin on his face, then stepping on the hem of his robe and falling on his face. She projected it to Luke, and he laughed even harder.

In playful retaliation, he projected an image of her doing the exact same thing, and this sent them both into fits of laughter.

As the laughter gradually trickled away, Mara realized that this may have been the first time she had ever laughed this hard in her life; Vader did have a sense of humor, but it tended to be on the sardonic, unpleasant side. Back when he had still been Galen Marek, Vader's apprentice had sometimes been good for a lighthearted exchange, but it seemed that, as with so many other things when he had ascended to Sith Lord, Darth Nova's sense of humor had vanished entirely.

Her life had been all duty before; there was only the mission, or training to get ready for the next one. There was never any time to just _be_, to relax in the company of good friends or laugh just for the sheer pleasure of it.

Luke was right; she had a long way to go yet, but Mara knew the path she had chosen was the right one. It wouldn't be easy, but hardly anything worth doing was.

Outside, the star-speckled blackness stretched and then blurred into the swirling blue tunnel of hyperspace as the fleet moved on to a new hiding place.

* * *

-/\-

* * *

Author's Note: First off, major, major thanks to Desteni and Silverwolf05 for helping me out with this story; Silv wrote a couple scenes to illustrate her points when making some suggestions, and I liked what she had so much that I kept it mostly in its original form, making her somewhat of a co-author on this story. She wrote most of the opening scene and contributed heavily to the interrogation, also.

You get major geek points if you can tell me the reference to Brian Daley's Han Solo trilogy(old school Star Wars) in this story. Those are some of my favorite Star Wars novels, so be assured, this was neither the first nor last reference. ;)

The delay was caused by a combination of computer problems, having to study for semester finals, and a heinously severe attack of writer's block a short while ago. Spending a day watching all six Star Wars movies in a row helped to jolt me out of it, as did playing KotOR for a while. I have gotten much further on both of the remaining oneshots in this series, as well as '_One Missed Strike, Part III_', which is roughly one-third written out as of this posting. I have come up with a(t least one) positively evil plot twist for that one, so I'm fiendishly waiting to unleash it on you. ;)

Next: _Allies of Convenience_, in which it is revealed how Darth Vader and Thrawn first met, as well as their overarching plan for the galaxy, a project they've been working on for over twenty years. Been wondering what the two of them are up to off in the Unknown Regions? Well, in the next story you'll find out. Till next time!


	3. Allies of Convenience

**Allies of Convenience**

_NOW (Three months after the Battle of Hoth)_

Grand Admiral Thrawn stood on the bridge of the Imperial flagship_ Executor_, gazing out into the cold, star-speckled vacuum of deep space. The void was a particularly stable place for him to think. No matter how many empires rose and fell, no matter what events occurred, no matter if tomorrow every life and planet and star vanished into nothingness, the void itself remained the same. It was merciless, chaos incarnate in the form of a black emptiness that stretched to infinity.

Thrawn caught the red-glare reflection of his eyes in the viewport. He involuntarily shivered. Despite all the brilliant intricacies of the ship systems, the thousands of mechanics and navigators and engineers and androids, the fact remained that only a few inches of transparisteel separated their fragile bubble of defiance from the void.

Thrawn held out his hand against the partition, blue against black, and felt the cold and nearly imperceptible trembling of the transparisteel as it resisted the void. How similar it was, Thrawn mused, to the thin veil that separated man's sanity from utter chaos.

Or an event, for that matter, such as the Emperor's trap for his son at Bespin; the plan had been simple, and during the initial stages, everything had worked perfectly. And yet, fractures, indiscernible to even Thrawn's well-trained eye, had shattered the veil and sent their plans reeling into chaos. Not only had Skywalker escaped, but so had Solo and his crew, including Leia Organa, whom Thrawn now knew was Lord Vader's daughter. He allowed himself a small smile. Lord Vader did not know Thrawn knew this, of course, as he had not told anyone after Agent Jade had reported her findings to him. But, the Grand Admiral made it his business to know anything that could possibly be of use to him in a future strategy, and so, after one of his monitoring programs alerted him to the fact that Agent Jade had accessed some of Lord Vader's private files remotely, he had directed the program to discreetly copy all of Jade's findings and send them back to him.

The news that Leia Organa was in fact the twin sister of Luke Skywalker had surprised Thrawn when he first saw the genetic comparison results, but, as usual, he quickly began to formulate strategy based on this, specifically what would be required to counteract _two_ Jedi fighting for the Rebellion. Nearly twenty years of association with Darth Vader had taught Thrawn to never underestimate an opponent, especially when that opponent wielded the mysterious and largely unpredictable power of the Force.

_Three Jedi,_ Thrawn quickly corrected mentally. Now that Jade had defected to the Rebellion, this, too required further strategy, and quickly. Mara Jade had been a member of Vader's inner circle, one of his personal agents nearly her entire life, and what she knew could be incredibly damaging to the Empire in the hands of the Rebels. Most of Thrawn's attention for the last few months had been put to finding out exactly what Mara Jade knew and what could be done to make this knowledge useless to the Rebellion. Had Thrawn been of lesser intellect, he would have despaired; Jade knew almost everything he and Vader did, including some information that was known only to the three of them and Darth Nova, and even some things Vader had not seen fit to trust to his Sith Apprentice. But, the task was not impossible, only difficult. He had been forced to excise an Emperor's Hand once before, after all.

Oddly, instead of flying into a rage, as could be expected from the normally short-fused Sith Master, Vader had taken the news of Jade's defection with remarkable calm. True, it was rumored that he had completely destroyed his personal training room later, from some noises passing crewmen had heard outside his suite of rooms shortly after leaving Bespin, but in public Vader had somehow managed to keep himself under total control.

That hadn't lasted long, however; less than a week later, Vader had nearly killed a junior officer merely for being too slow to get out of his way. This odd dichotomy of restraint and temper had continued ever since they had left Bespin, making Vader almost completely unpredictable, even more so than usual.

The Emperor's recent unpredictability had made Thrawn revise a number of his strategies for the possibility of Vader someday going completely berserk and forgetting his agreement with Thrawn in the process. Vader was highly likely to do something irrational right now, and that could not be allowed, not if Thrawn wanted to maintain his long-term plans.

Truthfully, while Thrawn knew the first Sith Lord he'd had contact with, the one called Sidious, would have been far less likely to allow his rage to control him like Vader did, working with Vader was still preferable. Sidious had viewed Thrawn as nothing more than another piece on his dejarik board, to be sacrificed if necessary, while Vader seemed to genuinely consider him a valuable ally, nearly an equal instead of just another servant.

Service under Emperor Palpatine would have been tolerable, and he might have still accomplished his long-term goals, but with Vader as Emperor, the probability was much higher; Vader knew, personally, the magnitude of the threat that lurked on the borders of his Empire, and he was fully willing to devote huge amounts of resources to the classified Vanguard Fleet they were assembling in what the Empire called the Unknown Regions. Under Palpatine, those resources would have gone instead to one of his grossly expensive -and impractical- superweapons like that Death Star Tarkin had been developing before Vader had him executed for plotting to seize the throne for himself.

When Vader had raided Tarkin's secret installation hidden in the Maw Cluster of black holes, Thrawn had seen blueprints for a number of astonishingly wasteful weapons; Palpatine and Tarkin had been planning weapons that were designed to kill huge numbers of people in as impressive a way as possible, using fear to keep the people of the Empire in line. Despite the alleged 'cautionary' nature of the superweapons, there was little doubt Palpatine and Tarkin would have used all of them at least once.

While Thrawn appreciated the strategic value of a weapon capable of vaporizing a planet or forcing a sun to go supernova, he saw weapons such as these as realistically being only a last-resort measure, to be used when the enemy's forces were so overwhelming that there was no other option. The destruction of even one star had massive repercussions on gravity for all nearby sectors; entire hyperspace lanes had become useless after the destruction of three stars in the Ssi-Ruuk War by Vader and Nova, and it had been years before new routes through the affected sectors were safely plotted.

The scientists in the Maw Installation were now hard at work on far more useful pursuits, mainly finding ways to counter the bizarre organic technology of the Far Outsiders by experimenting on a vessel Thrawn had captured personally back in his days with the Expansionary Defense Force of his own people.

A search was also in progress, at Lord Vader's command, for a sentient planet named Zonama Sekot, which the Emperor had encountered in his youth, a few years before the Clone Wars. After hearing Thrawn's descriptions of what he knew of the Far Outsiders, Vader had said that he thought Zonama Sekot might somehow be related.

"Transmission from Lord Vader, Admiral," the junior comm officer called up to him. "He asks for you to meet him in his quarters."

"Acknowledged," Thrawn replied. "Admiral Piett, you have the bridge."

Piett nodded smartly, promptly asking for a status update as Thrawn left the bridge.

* * *

_THEN (Twelve Standard days after the reorganization of the Republic into the Empire)_

Without having met the new Emperor face to face, the first impression Mitth'raw'nurodo had of Darth Vader was that he was a man of action.

The Sith Emperor had, along with his old master, Darth Sidious, eliminated most of the Jedi forces in a single day. Thrawn knew little of the conflict between the Sith and the Jedi, but the fact that two men could destroy an entire order containing tens of thousands of members was undeniably impressive.

The new Emperor had, after his master's death at the hands of the Jedi, immediately taken control of the situation and provided a single point of clarity for the rest of the galaxy, effectively keeping it from tearing itself apart.

And yet the new Emperor, despite having inconceivable pressures mounting on him regarding the reorganization of an entire galaxy's political structure, had set aside time to talk with him, an outcast and an alien, about a matter that, to most men, would seem too distant to deal with at the moment.

Thrawn stood in front of the doors to the Office of the Chancellor in the Senate Building on Coruscant. He wore a plain gray jumpsuit, taken from the stores of the _Strikefast_, which had picked him up from the nameless jungle planet to which he had been exiled by the Chiss government several years previously. His hair was still long and somewhat ragged from his years away from civilization, but he hadn't had time to have it trimmed yet, so he had simply tied it back out of the way. From what he knew of this Emperor Skywalker, the man cared little for ceremony or formality, anyway. There were more pressing matters to be discussed. Besides, Vader had ordered Captain Parck, the man who had found Thrawn in exile, to bring the Chiss warrior to him as fast as possible, leaving no time for Thrawn to tend to trivial matters like his appearance.

Darth Vader was a man of action _and_ punctuality, the former Chiss commander mused. Both were valuable assets in an ally.

Thrawn had had little time to observe the planet Coruscant on the way here, as the shuttle had flown directly from orbit to the Senate building, and he had quickly been ushered to the Chancellor's office, which Vader was using until he decided on a more permanent location from which he would be ruling the new Empire. Even still, Thrawn had had time to see that Coruscant was like no other planet he had ever visited; the entire surface was covered with buildings, making the whole world one enormous city containing nearly a trillion inhabitants, from what the pilot of the shuttle had said on the way here.

Upon hearing footsteps approaching across the red carpeting outside the office, Thrawn turned to see Darth Vader walking towards him, flanked by two red-robed soldiers carrying force pikes and wearing smooth, bullet-shaped helmets. Thrawn had not yet seen even an image of the Emperor, and so he was surprised to note that the current head of the galactic government was a young human who could not have been more than twenty-two or twenty-three, with wavy dark blond hair that nearly touched his shoulders, wearing the traditional clothing of the Jedi Order but all in black. Vader's face was unusually serious, but there was a hint of sadness about his expression, also, though it was obvious he was trying to keep himself under control.

Vader glanced up at Thrawn, then turned to a shorter human who had been walking with him. "Postpone the rest of my appointments until I send for you again," he said to the shorter man, presumably an aide.

The man frowned, seemed about to say something, but then glanced up at the tall Emperor's back and apparently decided against it. "Yes, my lord," he said quickly, tapping something out on his datapad.

Vader did not even stop on his way into his office past Thrawn. "Please, come in," he said as he passed him. As he opened the door, Vader looked back at his guards. "Wait outside," he said. The two soldiers wordlessly took up positions on either side of the door, not even breaking stride as they obeyed his orders.

Inside, Vader's office was a huge circular room decorated mostly in red, with an enormous viewport that spanned nearly the entire length of the rear wall displaying the lines of air traffic outside, along with the endless rows of skyscrapers which covered the planet. A huge desk dominated the center of the room, with a number of plush chairs arranged in front of it.

Vader crossed to the throne-like chair behind the desk and sat down, silently gesturing for Thrawn to take one of the chairs on the other side.

"Darth Sidious mentioned you to me as a possible future asset, Mitth'raw'nurodo," the young Emperor said without preamble, leaning back in his chair. Thrawn was mildly surprised that Vader had been able to pronounce his full name correctly. "He said that the way you disposed of the Outbound Flight expedition showed that you had an exceptional grasp of strategy and tactics, and that we would need a man like you to help us solidify the Empire's power. When Captain Parck told me he'd contacted you, I decided to follow through on my Master's plans for you."

Vader turned his chair slightly to look at the viewport behind him, which Thrawn realized, upon closer examination, had to be a forcefield of some kind, for there was no sun glare upon it.

"Palpatine had extensive files," Vader continued. "He made them available to me, and since his death, I have been looking through them." He swiveled his chair back around to face Thrawn, and his face was even more serious when he looked back up at him. "Tell me more about these Far Outsiders of which you spoke when he talked to you."

Direct and to the point; these were admirable traits in a leader. Vader was clearly not one for wasting time with pointless pleasantries.

"They are an extremely aggressive, militaristic race," Thrawn replied. "Their technology is unique in that it appears to be entirely organic, with absolutely no mechanical or artificial elements. Their leadership must be very strong, and their training methods exceptional, for they are very unified in their attacks; it seems, at times, as though their forces were being directed by a single governing intelligence."

Vader's brows drew together in thoughtful concern. "Like a droid-control ship?"

Thrawn nodded. "The thought has occurred to me that they are achieving the same result through some form of telepathy."

"And they are from beyond the galaxy?" Vader asked, leaning forward slightly in his chair.

"It is our estimation that they are," Thrawn replied. "Our scouting missions have estimated that they have an enormous fleet, their ships numbering in the hundreds of thousands. They have managed to penetrate the hyperspace disturbance which surrounds this galaxy in several places, but only with small vessels; it is my supposition that they have not yet found a location from which to establish a staging area for the rest of their fleet, which is still many light-years outside the galaxy."

"How far?" asked Vader, turning to look out of the viewport again.

"Several decades at least, by their form of faster-than-light travel," said Thrawn. "My people's scouting expeditions estimate the bulk of their forces will not arrive for another thirty to forty Standard years."

"Troop numbers?" Vader had now turned his chair entirely around, and only the top of his head was visible above the back.

"If our information is correct, I would venture a low estimate at one-and-a-half trillion at this time," Thrawn replied. "They could conceivably have two or three times that by the time they arrive."

Vader made a strange noise then, one that took Thrawn a moment to identify as a deep sigh. His chair moved slightly, as if he had sat back heavily.

"Before the Clone Wars," Vader said, still leaving his chair facing the expansive viewport, "there hadn't been a full-scale war in this galaxy in a thousand years. A war with these Far Outsiders will make the second in a century."

"Well, Emperor Skywalker," Thrawn replied, "you will have several decades in which to prepare your civilization. If you spend the years until their arrival wisely, you may be able to present the Far Outsiders with a unified front and thus resist their invasion with a minimum of civilian casualties."

Vader's chair did not move, and he was silent for a long moment. "You had been sent to the planet on which Captain Parck found you as a punishment by your people, correct?"

"Yes," Thrawn replied, narrowing his eyes slightly in thought as he attempted to discern why Vader had changed the subject. "They sent me there because I destroyed the Outbound Flight expedition, which I had believed to be a threat at the time."

"Why?"

That single word was deceptively calm, but it was obvious to Thrawn that there was volatile emotion simmering underneath it.

"In my opinion, the expedition's commander, a Jedi Master named Jorus C'baoth, was a dangerously unstable individual," Thrawn replied. "When I contacted him in query to the intentions of his expedition, he threatened my fleet and then attacked me personally with the Force."

Vader's gloved right hand appeared from behind his chair, holding up a small datapad. Thrawn could see on the screen a transcript of one of Parck's numerous interviews with him over the course of their journey here. "From your description," Vader said, "it sounds as if Master C'baoth had immersed himself too deeply in the Dark Side and went insane."

"That was my conclusion," said Thrawn. "The expedition's course was taking them directly into the path of the Far Outsiders' invasion corridor; I had contacted C'baoth to warn him of this, but, as I said, he refused to listen and attacked me. If not for the intervention of Kinman Doriana, a human I had encountered and brought aboard my vessel, he might have succeeded. Faced with no other course of action, I destroyed the expedition. The Ruling Houses disapproved of my actions, and so exiled me to the planet on which Captain Parck encountered me."

"Why?" Vader said again.

"The Chiss do not approve of preemptive strikes," Thrawn replied. "My people do not attack unless we are attacked first. I saw your Outbound Flight as a threat, and so I saw my actions as justified. The Ruling Houses did not."

"You are aware the crew of Outbound Flight were mostly civilian colonists, are you not?" Vader said, a dangerous edge to his voice.

"As I said, from the way the expedition's leader presented himself, I saw Outbound Flight as a legitimate threat," Thrawn replied evenly. "He had at his disposal six heavily armed Dreadnaught heavy cruisers, and showed no compunctions about using them." He lifted his chin slightly. "Had I known the truth about the expedition from the beginning, I will admit that I would likely have used a different strategy, one which spared the majority of the crew. But, much of my information came from Doriana. I suspect his information was not completely accurate. Doriana also launched a radiation bomb I had aboard my vessel while I was under attack by C'baoth, which I had not been intending to use against Outbound Flight, but instead against a Trade Federation fleet I had engaged previously. The radiation killed the crew, so I destroyed the vessels to prevent them from being found by the Far Outsiders."

"My Master, Lord Sidious, had long known of the threat the Jedi presented to the stability of the galaxy," Vader said. "He was not, at the time, in the position to act, so it is likely he used his agent Doriana to take advantage of the opportunity you and your fleet provided."

"A viable strategic move," Thrawn replied neutrally. He had suspected as much. To be truthful, he was somewhat relieved that Sidious was dead and his apprentice had taken charge; despite his apparent change of name and character, Anakin Skywalker was, by reputation, a formidable warrior and an excellent potential ally.

Finally, Vader spun his chair back around to face his visitor. Thrawn saw that the young Emperor's face had hardened into a coldly calculating expression, almost totally devoid of emotion.

"I am still in the process of reorganizing the remains of the Republic into the Empire," Vader said. "Obviously, you are not here as a formal ambassador for your people, but from what I do know of you thus far, you could be a valuable asset to me in helping to stabilize the situation. Your people the Chiss are also dealing with a number of other threats in what we call the Unknown Regions, correct?"

"Correct," Thrawn replied. "We know little of your civilization, but I am fairly certain the Ruling Houses would not be interested in a formal alliance at this time. However, depending on how well you accomplish the task of unifying your region of space against the Far Outsiders, a further alliance between our peoples could perhaps someday be worked out."

Vader was silent for a moment, staring at Thrawn over his intertwined fingers, his elbows propped on the desk. "You held the rank of Commander in the forces of your own people?" he asked.

Thrawn thought Vader's seemingly disjointed questions could be seen as an attempt to put him off-balance as a test of his concentration, but there were other signs that Vader's thoughts were troubled.

"I did," Thrawn replied.

"Very well, Mitth'raw'nurodo," Vader said, pulling another datapad out of a drawer in his desk. He tapped at it for a moment, then slid it across the desk to Thrawn. "You now possess the equivalent rank in the Imperial Navy. We will keep in contact as you tell me more about these threats at the edges of my Empire, but over the next several years, you will earn your way upwards through the ranks. If you acquit yourself well in my forces, you will be promoted quickly."

He stood, and Thrawn stood, also. "I thank you, Lord Vader, for providing me with this opportunity," he said. "You may call me by my core name, Thrawn."

Vader inclined his head in acknowledgment. "I look forward to working with you more in the future, Commander Thrawn," he said. "Now, if you will excuse me, there are a number of other matters which require my attention."

The door quietly hissed open behind Thrawn, and he turned to see two of the red-robed guards walk inside to take up positions on either side of the office's entrance, followed by the aide Thrawn had seen before, who had a datapad and a stack of datacards under one arm.

As he left the Emperor's office, Thrawn puzzled over Vader's strange actions during their conversation. It was not until he learned several days later that Padmé Amidala Naberrie -a senior Senator for Naboo who had died during the chaos of the reorganization- was actually Vader's wife, that he understood the turbulent emotions lurking beneath Vader's mask of control. This would remain something Vader was sensitive about for years afterward, something he apparently never entirely got over.

* * *

_NOW_

Grand Admiral Thrawn found Darth Vader in the Sith Master's training room, sparring with one of his skeletal combat droids. The door sprang open seemingly by itself as Thrawn approached, -an occurrence to which he was very well accustomed by now- and the sound of clashing lightsabers greeted him.

Thrawn paused just in front of the door, which hissed closed behind him, and waited until the Emperor was ready to speak with him.

Vader wore a sleeveless black shirt, trousers, and boots, holding his red-bladed lightsaber in his mechanical right hand, which was wrapped as usual in black leather. Sweat gleamed on his muscular arms and soaked his hair and shirt as he moved in an offensive pattern nearly too fast to follow, thrusting at the combat droid opposite him, which looked like nothing so much as a humanoid skeleton made of metal, with various mechanical components in place of muscles. The combat droid wielded a blue-bladed lightsaber with superhuman speed and precision, but was apparently still no match for the Sith Master. As Thrawn watched, Vader jumped up, planted one foot on the wall about a meter above the ground, and hurled himself into a twisting flip over the combat droid's head, ending with a powerful slash of his scarlet-bladed weapon.

The droid crashed to the ground in two smoking halves, but Vader did not pause even to acknowledge his victory, for a pair of hatches opened in the ceiling and two more combat droids dropped out, their lightsabers igniting in a dual _snap-hiss_ as they shifted into offensive stances.

"Increase difficulty level to maximum," Vader said, either having not yet noticed Thrawn or ignoring him for now.

"_Request exceeds safety restrictions,_" the harsh computer voice warned. "_Override?_"

"Yes!" Vader snapped, shifting his weight impatiently. He tossed his lightsaber back and forth between his hands, the metal slapping against the flesh of his natural hand and the leather of the gauntlet which covered his mechanical prosthetic.

The photoreceptors on the two combat droids seemed to brighten as the computer obeyed the Emperor's order, and their stance shifted into an even more threatening posture. The light gleamed off of their metal skulls, making their bare-toothed grins even more sinister. Or at least, that was the intent; Thrawn was merely impatient, annoyed at being forced to play audience while Vader showed off his combat prowess.

"Engage observer protection shield," Thrawn told the training room's computer. With a quick shimmer, an energy shield flickered into being around him, extending back to the door. He had seen Vader duel his droids on this setting before, and knew there was a substantially high probability of his being accidentally injured or killed by any of the three combatants if he did not engage the shield.

Vader did not even glance back at Thrawn, though he had no doubt heard the order. His face remained expressionless, but his muscles tensed, and his eyes flicked back and forth between the droids. His fingers flexed around the black lightsaber hilt gripped in both hands as he shifted his feet slightly, tensing in preparation to attack.

One of the droids beat him to it; as its partner feinted left, the other droid surged forward ahead, swinging its blue-bladed lightsaber in a blisteringly fast offensive pattern. Vader neatly parried the first of its attacks, whipping his humming ruby blade through a corresponding defensive pattern that turned each and every strike aside without giving a centimeter of ground.

The other droid somersaulted in with superhuman speed, slashing with wide, sweeping attacks at the Sith Master's back. Vader began moving even faster, far beyond the limit of normal human capabilities as he not only parried the attacks of both droids, but went on the offensive, forcing one of the droids to edge backwards toward where Thrawn waited.

Vader passed his lightsaber from hand to hand as he whirled and pivoted, avoiding some strikes and smashing others aside, always sending his lightsaber through the exact pattern needed to keep the droids' blades away from his chest, which was their clear target. Thrawn observed that the droids were repeatedly trying for lethal ending blows, not pulling their strikes even slightly; both droids were genuinely trying to kill Lord Vader.

Vader finally showed that he was, in fact, aware Thrawn was there by taking advantage of the protective shield around the Grand Admiral; he lashed out with his right leg and kicked one droid back into the shield, and as it bounced off the forcefield, unbalanced, he decapitated it with a savage yell of exertion. Thrawn did not so much as flinch, continuing to watch calmly as the droid's neck shot sparks and it slumped to the ground.

The Sith Master whipped his lightsaber's blade behind his back as he briefly met Thrawn's eyes, blocking a diagonal slash by the other droid without looking. "I will be with you in a moment, Admiral," he said with deceptive calm.

With that, he whirled, smashed his blade four times in quick succession against the remaining combat droid's weapon, and leaped in a three-meter twisting somersault over its head, landing on both feet with one arm thrust out for balance.

The droid advanced with a low slash, but Vader tensed his legs and sprang almost two meters straight up, snapping his lightsaber downward with both hands as he descended. The droid splayed its legs in a manner impossible for all but the most flexible humans and caught the slash with its own blade, allowing itself to be forced downward.

With a whine of servomotors, the droid pushed itself back upright, forcing Vader backwards, and then surged forward in an offensive pattern, moving more than twice as fast as was possible for a non-enhanced human.

Vader merely met this charge with a challenging grin, pushing himself to move just as fast as he shifted into a defensive pattern. Only moments later, it was all over:

The droid moved its lightsaber up into a looping slash, intended to arc downwards past Vader's guard and into his neck, but the Sith Master was quicker, and seemed almost to blur as he plunged his lightsaber up to the hilt in the droid's chest, where the heart would be on a human. Without pausing, he yanked the lightsaber's blade upwards through the droid's shoulder, and then, once free of the droid's body, whipped the saber around to neatly slice away its head.

Sparks sprayed violently in all directions as the droid's power systems overloaded, and then, with a final screech of servomotors, it slumped to the deckplates with a heavy clank.

Breathing heavily, Vader held up his left hand and summoned a white towel with the Force from a bar on the other side of the room. As he mopped away the sweat covering his face, he turned to Thrawn. "My apologies, Admiral," he said as he deactivated his lightsaber. "I had thought I would be finished by the time you arrived." He shrugged slightly, draping the towel around his neck as he ran his organic fingers back through his close-cropped hair. "I found myself in need of an additional cycle today."

"No apologies necessary, Lord Vader," Thrawn replied neutrally, giving no hint of his annoyance as he turned off the shield. "You have been under a great deal of stress lately."

Vader shrugged again, then held up one hand. A bottle of water leaped into it from a shelf across the room, and he drank deeply before answering. "It is time to contact Parck on Nirauan," he said. "He is due for a report."

A droplet of sweat had dripped down the patch-like lens covering Vader's mechanical eye, and he swiped it away with the towel before tossing it aside, headed for the door at the far end of the training room that connected into his quarters. Thrawn followed, waiting next to the wall full of lightsabers as Vader went into one of the other rooms of his suite.

When the Emperor emerged a moment later, he was wearing the jacket of his usual uniform, the right sleeve of which he was pulling down over his mechanical arm's leather covering. He gestured at the screen in the corner near his chair, which flared to life and automatically began connecting with the secret Imperial base on Nirauan.

The activities there were so secret that the commander was ordered not to contact the rest of the Empire for any reason other than dire emergency, so Thrawn and Vader had to contact him to receive status reports, to decrease the chance of their communications being intercepted by the rest of Imperial command or worse, the Rebel Alliance.

Moments later, the thin, sharp features of Admiral Voss Parck, commander of the base, appeared, showing his head and the shoulders of his black-and-red Imperial uniform against the dark stone wall of his office.

"_Lord Vader, Grand Admiral,"_ Parck said politely, his posture stiffening slightly as he saw that both of them were present. "_What can I do for you?_"

"Report, Admiral," Thrawn said without preamble. "What more have you found since my last contact?"

On the other end, Parck tapped a few keys on his keyboard, sending the latest scout reports back along the encrypted transmission to Thrawn aboard the _Executor_. A smaller screen below the main flashed, indicating successful reception of the files. "_Sir, the most recent scouting expedition's findings indicate that the Far Outsiders' main fleet is still decades away, though we have encountered increasing numbers of warships on the fringes of space. It is Baron Fel's opinion that they may be attempting to set up an advance base inside the Rishi Maze."_

Thrawn nodded once. "Order Fel and his task force to investigate further," he said. "And the _Eclipse_?"

Parck glanced down and consulted his screen for confirmation. "_Construction is proceeding on schedule, sir," _he replied_. "The foreman estimates completion within a Standard year, and within three Standard years on _Eclipse II _and _III_. Construction of the _Executor_-class and _Imperial_-class Star Destroyers is also proceeding on schedule. I estimate completion of the First Vanguard Fleet within two Standard years, and the Second within five."_

Thrawn nodded in acknowledgment. "Excellent," he said. He glanced at Vader, who nodded fractionally but remained silent. "Is there further news on the treaty?"

Parck allowed a small smile through his rigid military posture. "_Yes, sir."_ He glanced over at Vader._ "I recently received a communiqué from Aristocra Chaf'orm'bintrano, in which he reports that the leading members of the Ruling Houses are now ready to meet with you to formalize an alliance. They insist on negotiating with you personally, my lord, but they have said that they will await your convenience."_

Vader nodded once. "I will order the _Executor_ to set course for Csilla immediately," he said. "I would like to formalize this alliance as soon as possible."

Parck inclined his head in acknowledgment. "_I will relay this to the Aristocra, my lord."_

"Is there anything else, Admiral?" Thrawn asked.

Parck shook his head. "_Not at this time, sir. A full summary of current operation status is in my report."_

"Very well," said the Grand Admiral. "Thrawn out."

As the screen deactivated, Vader turned to Thrawn. "Order the flagship to set course for your homeworld," he said. "The rest of the fleet is to stay here, under the command of Captain Pellaeon on the _Chimaera._ They are to continue searching for the Rebel fleet."

Thrawn nodded in acknowledgment, about to leave the Emperor's quarters, when the comm sounded. Vader activated it, and the bridge's comm officer announced, "_Lord Vader, we just received a communiqué with Level Six encryption."_

"Send it down here," Vader said, looking up at Thrawn.

Level Six encryption could mean only a report from one of the Emperor's Hands, and since only two were on active duty besides the traitor Jade, the message had to be vital; the Emperor's Hands handled only the most sensitive and important missions.

Vader's private computer would take several moments to decrypt the report, so Thrawn took advantage of the pause.

"Have you located any more information in the Temple archives about the… artifact?" he asked Vader.

The Sith Master shook his head. "The Jedi records are unclear as to whether it was destroyed or not; it was apparently never used again after the end of the war, but there is the possibility that it could still be out there somewhere. It would greatly aid in construction of the Vanguard Fleet, certainly, as well as… other uses." Vader glanced out of his viewport at the stars beyond. "Progress on the cloning studies?"

"The Vanguard Fleets will have full crews without need for further transfer of troops, Lord Vader," Thrawn replied. "The Spaarti method of cloning is much faster than the Kaminoan technique used in the Clone Wars, though there are still some minor problems that need to be dealt with."

Vader raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"Short life span and occasional insanity," Thrawn replied. "If we want to make more efficient use of our clone troopers, we need to find out why this happens. Once the problem is overcome, the Spaarti cylinders can be used to mass-produce thousands of clones quickly, possibly millions, if we are able to refine the process."

Vader clasped his hands behind his back and sighed. "We will need them, if we are to match the Far Outsiders."

Thrawn frowned slightly. "Lord Vader, perhaps it is time to make public the danger of-"

Vader held up a hand. "We have had this conversation already, Thrawn. The war with the Rebellion consumes too much attention as it is. Informing the public that the greatest threat this galaxy has ever seen is only fifteen or twenty years away will cause only panic and chaos. When we crush the Rebels and stabilize the galaxy again, _then_ we will make the threat public, for the final stage of preparations."

Thrawn kept his expression neutral and did not respond, but inwardly questioned the validity of this strategy; the news that there was a galactic threat out there might be enough to convince the Rebels to stop their destructive revolution and instead put their resources to work on helping to prepare for the inevitable war with the Far Outsiders. Fighting over what amounted to differing philosophies of government was pointless in the face of a threat to the very survival of civilization itself.

"_Decrypt complete_," the computer's screen flashed. Vader tapped a control and the information came up on the screen.

"Shira Brie," Vader said after a glance at the opening lines of coded ID numbers. "It says here that she's discovered there is a leak inside Imperial command, which the Rebels call Beta Source. The Rebels have decided to extract this Beta Source before Imperial Intelligence catches them, and so have been trying to determine who it is and a way to contact them."

Thrawn frowned thoughtfully. "I have suspected a double agent within our ranks for some time now," he said. "The Rebels have been able to escape some of our traps far more easily than they should have, and several assassination targets have vanished just before the execution of the mission, among other suspicious occurrences."

Vader scowled darkly. "More traitors," he growled. He turned to Thrawn. "Have Isard thoroughly investigate everyone on this list of possibilities for Beta Source."

Thrawn raised one brow in wry amusement as he read the names on the screen. "Director Isard _herself_ is on the list," he observed.

The Emperor let out an angry sigh. "Investigate her yourself, then," he snapped. "She's probably up to something anyway."

The Grand Admiral allowed himself another small, wry smile. "Very likely, my lord," he said. Anyone who had gotten her position by framing her own father for treason was certainly up to _something_.

Lord Vader unfastened his uniform jacket, gesturing to the door at the other end of the room. "I will be in my training room if you need me, Grand Admiral," he said. "I find that I have not yet purged enough aggression today."

Thrawn inclined his head in acknowledgment and then left, thinking silently to himself, _If such a thing is even possible._

As the Grand Admiral mulled over his conversation with the Sith Lord during the walk back to the bridge, he felt his plans for 'if' Vader lost himself to the Dark Side turn into a 'when.' There was little doubt in Thrawn's mind that one day Vader would lose control of himself completely. In response, Thrawn moved several other aspects of his plans up mentally. For now, the Emperor's sanity was on his side, and that sanity knew first-hand the true danger the Far Outsiders posed._  
_

* * *

_THEN (Ten years after the founding of the Empire)_

"We are honored to have you aboard the _Admonitor_, Lord Vader," said Commander Niriz, saluting crisply as the grim black-clad figure descended the ramp of his shuttle into the Star Destroyer's docking bay.

At his side, Captain Thrawn stood with his hands clasped behind his back, shoulders square beneath his olive-gray uniform, polished black boots planted exactly the width of his shoulders apart in perfect 'parade rest' military posture.

Darth Vader, wearing his usual black Imperial uniform with silver trim, a long black cloak hanging from his shoulders, stopped in front of the _Admonitor_'s captain and executive officer and passed his cold blue gaze over both of them. "You said you had captured a Far Outsider base," he said. "I wish to see it for myself."

With a gesture from one black-gloved hand, a dozen stormtroopers rushed out of the shuttle's passenger area and moved into honor-guard formation around the Emperor, Commander Niriz, and Thrawn. As they proceeded into the _Admonitor_'s corridors, Niriz reported on what they had found.

"It was during our mapping scans of the planet's surface that we found the base," he said, glancing over at the taller Vader as they walked. "We almost didn't detect it, because our sensors were looking for metallic structures. Captain Thrawn spotted something odd on the sensor readings, so we sent a detachment down to investigate, and that's when several of their ships attacked us."

"You said they're made of some kind of coral?" Vader asked, looking back at him.

The _Admonitor_'s first officer nodded. "Yes, my lord. They interface with the pilot through some sort of telepathic link, enabled by a hood that fits over the pilot's head." Niriz frowned briefly in revulsion. "We were only able to capture one, since all of the others started ramming our fighters after we destroyed their control ship. The fighter's cockpit was breached, and the pilot was killed, but the ship itself appears to be alive."

"Living ships…" Vader said softly to himself, his brows drawing together in thought. "You brought it up here?"

Thrawn gestured to one of the corridors off to the right. "Yes, my lord," he said. "We have been studying it while waiting for you to arrive."

Niriz led the way, and soon they emerged into the cargo hold in which the captured ship was being held. Vader walked right up to the asteroid-like craft, which was approximately ten meters long, roughly triangular, and irregularly shaped, like some sort of deformed sea creature. It looked like no other ship Thrawn had ever seen, save the destroyer-analogue he had captured during an EDF mission fifteen years ago.

"Did you take any prisoners?" Vader asked, reaching out to touch the stony hull of the small fighter with one gloved hand.

"No, my lord," Niriz replied. "Every one of their warriors fought to the death. We tried to take a few prisoners, but we finally had to kill them all to keep our own casualties down."

Vader's expression turned thoughtful as he pulled the glove off his natural hand, then reached up to touch the hull of the fighter again with his bare fingers. "It's warm," he said. "It's dying, but it is alive." He turned back to face them. "I cannot, however, sense it through the Force. It is as if it is simply not there, yet I can see it and touch it. Most disturbing."

"You once said all living things can be sensed through the Force," said Thrawn, taking a step toward the Emperor and the ship.

"They can," Vader replied. "That is what makes this so disturbing." He pulled his glove back on. "What is the condition of the base?"

"Destroyed, my lord," Niriz replied. "We finally had to pull our troops back and bombard the installation from orbit to stop them. Even then, they refused to give up. As I said, every one of the survivors fought to the death. One of their warriors was able to kill two entire squads by himself."

Vader nodded slowly. "I wish to see what remains," he said.

Thrawn gestured back to the docking bay. "We will accompany you, my lord."

The Far Outsider base was in one of the equatorial jungles of the unnamed planet which the _Admonitor_ was currently orbiting. The base had been discovered almost by accident while the Star Destroyer was mapping the planet as part of its survey mission, Thrawn's current assignment for the Empire. With the _Admonitor_, he was currently mapping out as much of the Unknown Regions as possible, in preparation for making a figurative defensive line against the Far Outsiders' coming invasion. It was the opinion of both Chiss military command and Thrawn himself that the invaders would try to establish foothold bases at the edges of the galaxy and from there sweep into the civilized sectors like a plague. He had convinced Lord Vader of this, and so he was now out here searching for viable locations for military bases and gathering points for fleet elements.

For the last ten years, as Thrawn steadily rose through the Imperial ranks, he and Vader had been planning and investigating, trying to make sure the Empire would be as prepared as possible for the invasion when it came. Thrawn knew Vader already considered him one of his most valuable officers, but, as was the Emperor's style, he refused to show any partiality; both of them knew Thrawn would one day hold the rank of Grand Admiral, the highest possible in the Imperial military, but he would have to earn it. So, for the last ten years, that was what he had been doing. After five years as a commander and five years as a captain, a promotion to vice admiral was probably not far off.

As the Emperor's shuttle soared down through the atmosphere, Vader looked across the compartment at Thrawn. "I understand you demonstrated exceptional tactics in destroying the enemy," he said.

"I took advantage of the opportunities presented," Thrawn replied, never one for boasting.

Commander Niriz smirked. "The captain destroyed their entire fleet of eight ships with just one Star Destroyer," he said. "The ship was taking heavy damage at first from their guns, which are some sort of magma projectors, until he deciphered their attack pattern and figured out which one was the control ship. A few precisely calculated runs from our fighters later, they were wide open, and he blew them apart with the _Admonitor_'s turbolasers. After that, it was just a matter of mopping up." The exec gestured back up in the direction of space. "They use some sort of singularity generators as both shields and propulsion systems. Until Captain Thrawn figured out how to confuse them, we were taking a serious beating."

"I have sent the technique on to both my people's forces and the rest of the Vanguard Fleet troops being trained," Thrawn said to Vader. "There were no survivors and no apparent communications, so it should be viable in any future encounters."

The Emperor nodded approvingly. "Good," he said. "We will need all the advantages we can get."

After the shuttle landed and they headed outside into the clearing in the jungle made by the _Admonitor_'s turbolasers several days earlier, Vader headed straight for the wreckage of the invaders' base, flanked on all sides by his stormtroopers.

They walked over the burned-black ground until Vader stopped at the edge of the burn area and prodded one of the bodies with his boot. "So, this is what they look like," he said. "What sort of armor is this?"

"Some kind of crab, my lord," Commander Niriz replied. "It's totally impervious to blaster fire; we had to kill them by shooting them in the gaps." He rolled the scarified, tattooed corpse over with his boot, gesturing to the burn mark in the warrior's armpit. "The armpit appears to be one of the few vulnerable areas, though our most accurate troopers managed a few head-shots." He pointed to the blaster-burn between the warrior's eyes.

"These scars," Vader said, crouching over the corpse to get a closer look. "Self-inflicted?"

"It appears so," Thrawn replied. "All of the bodies are like this, though no two of them have the same patterns. I would venture that it has some ritualistic function."

Vader extended a gloved hand and moved his finger over some of the swirling, looping patterns drawn on the crab-shell armor with a brownish-red substance. "What is this?" he asked, though his grim tone betrayed the fact that he already knew.

Niriz grimaced. "Human blood, my lord. This one killed a few of our troopers and smeared himself like this before he charged our position again." He pointed to the wound that had killed the alien. "I dropped this one myself."

Vader looked up at the commander. "You were down here during the battle?"

Niriz nodded. "Yes, sir. I had taken a landing party down to investigate the structures we detected from orbit. While I was down here, the enemy fleet showed up and Captain Thrawn fought them off with the _Admonitor_. We had to hold our ground down here until he could send reinforcements." He straightened. "I would like to recommend every man that fought down here for a medal, my lord," he said. "They deserve it."

As Vader stood up again, he looked around at the destruction. "Granted, Commander," he said. "I will accept your recommendation."

A guttural, growling voice suddenly screamed an unintelligible phrase from the trees; Thrawn was only able to clearly discern the word '_Vong_' and something that might have been '_prak_' or '_pratte_', followed by deep-throated bellowing.

Thrawn turned, trying to see where the voice was coming from, but in that instant, a Far Outsider ran roaring into the clearing, headed right for the three of them, swinging a long, whip-like weapon with one hand as he ran. He was just as scarred and tattooed as the corpses, nearly two meters tall and dressed in the same crab-shell armor as the rest of them. What little hair he had, coarse and black, was clumped with dried blood against his sloped head. His arms and torso were smeared with more blood, not all of it his own, and there was a crazed, fanatic gleam in his eyes.

The _snap-hiss_ of Darth Vader's lightsaber igniting drew Thrawn's attention to the Emperor, who had dropped into a defensive stance, his glowing red weapon held at an angle in front of him.

The screaming warrior immediately changed course to head straight for Vader, who merely grinned fiercely in response, as if hoping for a fight. The stormtroopers immediately opened fire on the warrior, but their blaster bolts bounced ineffectively off of the armor covering his body.

From a bandolier across his chest, the warrior yanked several small, round objects, which he hurled at Vader. Most of them appeared like they were going to miss until they suddenly changed course in midair and veered for Vader, Thrawn, and Niriz.

"Captain, look out!" Niriz called. Even before he finished speaking, he tackled Thrawn to the ground. One of the objects the warrior had thrown whistled overhead, humming oddly. As Thrawn looked up at it, he saw that it had wings; it was some sort of insect. It circled back around, but one of the stormtroopers shot it, and it exploded, sending splatters of ichor in all directions.

Vader smashed the other insects out of the air with his lightsaber, though one made it through his guard and slashed open his sleeve. He grunted in pain, reflexively glancing down at the wound.

At that moment, the warrior's whip turned to a long staff in his hand, and from one end came a stream of liquid aimed at Lord Vader. Vader barely managed to dodge out of the way, glaring at the warrior as the alien continued to charge, ignoring the continuing shots of the stormtroopers. The liquid splashed with an acidic hiss across the charred ground, spraying out in a wide stream of droplets.

With a fierce shout, Vader sprang at the warrior, his lightsaber blazing. He whipped his glowing blade through a savage arc, clearly intent on decapitating the warrior.

But, to the surprise of everyone there, Thrawn included, the alien brought up his snake-like staff to block, and it actually managed to halt the lightsaber's blade. The taller alien warrior shifted his feet on the burnt ground and tried to force Vader back, but the Sith Master's muscles bulged beneath his sleeves as he held his ground.

Thrawn saw Vader's surprise register on his face as he tried to do something, probably attempt to assault the alien's mind through the Force, but there was no effect. The stormtroopers had halted their shots to avoid hitting the Emperor, so for now the Sith Master was on his own against the alien warrior.

Vader suddenly twisted aside, his long black cloak snapping with the speed of his movement, and threw out his hand toward the warrior as the alien stumbled a step in the wrong direction. Crackling purple-blue lightning leaped from Vader's fingers, searching out all the gaps in the warrior's armor, and the alien screamed in pain.

He whirled, slashing out with his staff again, and Vader blocked the attack with his lightsaber. He advanced, smashing his blade against the alien's again and again as he drove him backwards.

The alien warrior was grinning hideously now, as if he was enjoying the battle. Vader's face, in contrast, had hardened into an emotionless mask as he concentrated fully on the fight. He repeatedly slashed and stabbed, trying to find the holes in the alien's defense, but the warrior had superb reflexes and was able to counter almost every blow. His armor deflected the blows that did make it through. In turn, the alien attacked with powerful slashing blows of his razor-edged staff, most of which Lord Vader was able to block, but one made it through and became tangled in his cloak for a moment.

Vader made to swing his lightsaber at the alien's neck again, but the warrior ducked, and as he did so, wrenched his staff out of the cloak with a powerful sweep of his arm, leaving the black fabric in shreds.

In a surprising move, the alien's staff then suddenly went limp and wrapped itself around Vader's right arm. Thrawn saw fangs glint as they plunged into the Sith Master's forearm.

But Vader had a surprise of his own: his right arm was mechanical from the elbow down, and the venom of the creature had no effect. At the cost of having to drop his lightsaber, Vader clenched the staff-creature's slender body in his mechanical fingers and squeezed with all the strength they could provide.

The staff-creature thrashed in his grip, wrenching its other end out of its master's hands, and the tail formed into a blade that slashed at the hand holding it. Sparks shot from a damaged system in Vader's mechanical arm as the razor tail sliced into it, but it was too late; the creature was in its death throes.

The alien warrior howled in rage, hurling himself bodily at the Sith Master, but Vader's other hand grabbed the alien by the neck as the warrior bowled him over. Lightning poured into the alien from Vader's hand, the bolts crackling and sparking, and the gaps in the alien warrior's armor soon began to smoke.

With a final, deep-throated roar of rage and pain, the alien slumped, dead, over Vader, still twitching from the Force Lightning. The stormtroopers rushed over the pull the dead alien off of the Emperor, but he shoved it aside with his mechanical arm before they could arrive.

Standing over the warrior he had killed, his long cloak in tatters stirred into flutters by the faint breeze, and his mechanical arm shooting sparks, Vader glared down at the alien and sent another powerful burst of lightning into it. He summoned his lightsaber to his hand with the Force, and after igniting the blade, stabbed it into the warrior's neck to make sure it was dead.

He turned, breathing heavily, to Thrawn and Niriz, standing a few meters away. "He was…" Vader said between breaths, "a hole… in the Force… It was like… he was… not there… A void."

He clipped his lightsaber to his belt, looking up at the sky as he slowly caught his breath. "Burn it down," he said darkly, a moment later. "For five hundred kilometers in every direction, burn this planet's surface into _ash_!" He pointed at the body. "I want no more survivors here. See to it."

With that, Vader turned and marched back towards the shuttle.

Next to Thrawn, Commander Niriz shook his head in astonishment. "Even the Emperor had a hard time killing one of these things!" he exclaimed. "What _are_ these monsters?"

Thrawn only frowned thoughtfully to himself; the Far Outsiders' apparent immunity to the effects of the Force presented further problems, requiring additional levels of planning.

The latest reports said that the main fleet was still twenty-five to thirty years away, but with each new piece of information they learned, Thrawn expected that it would take that long just to find a way to fight them on equal terms.

A hard fight was coming. He just hoped the recent stirrings of rebellion did not graduate to armed conflict; if the current situation escalated into another full-scale war, the probability that the Far Outsiders would come upon a devastated, slowly recovering galaxy grew increasingly higher.

If the invasion happened under those circumstances, not even the best tactical planning would be able to stop the invaders.

* * *

-/\-

* * *

Author's Note: As much as I would like to take credit for the first three paragraphs of this story, I can't; my beta reader, Silverwolf05, wrote them as a better introduction to the story and Thrawn's character, and I agreed with her that her suggestion worked better than my original intro. Great stuff, no? This is why you always let somebody else read your work before you post it.

For more on the Outbound Flight expedition, read the novels '_Outbound Flight'_ and '_Survivor's Quest_' by Timothy Zahn. There's way too much story there for me to pack into a summary here, so if you haven't read them already, go get them from your local library to see the master at work. By this, I mean both Thrawn and his creator. ;)

Next, '_Death, Lies, and Treachery_': Boba Fett, the galaxy's greatest bounty hunter, always gets his target. He has never failed to deliver on a contract, until now. Someone besides Mara Jade thwarted him at Bespin by shooting down his ship, and Fett intends to put all his skill into finding out who it was and making them pay. No one crosses Boba Fett and lives to boast about it...

Since that story is completely finished(I wrote it at the same time I was writing this one), it will be up soon. I had some computer trouble, which has been incredibly aggravating, but hopefully I will soon be able to resume work on '_One Missed Strike, Part III_'. I've now been working on this AU for an entire year; it really doesn't seem like that long since I first got the idea, but the calendar don't lie. ;)

Till next time!


	4. Death, Lies, and Treachery

**Death, Lies, and Treachery**

Boba Fett stood in a cavernous repair bay near the top of Cloud City, his blaster rifle slung at an angle across his armored chest as he watched the mechanics crawl over the hull of his starship, the _Slave I,_ trying not to stare at the silent armored warrior standing a few meters away from them. Fett knew he was making them nervous, but he did not particularly care; if knowing he was watching unsettled them and made them pay more attention to their work, so much the better. The concerns of other mortals, if he could not in some way profit from them, were of little importance to Boba Fett.

Two days ago, someone had shot down his ship while he was pursuing the _Millennium Falcon._ Over those two days, Fett had been investigating, trying to figure out who it was that had foiled him. The turret blast had cost him a major contract from Jabba the Hutt; despite the fact that Lord Vader had paid him anyway, even though Solo and his companions had later gotten away, the Hutt bounty on Han Solo was still substantial. Boba Fett had trained himself not to feel most emotion, but this provoked genuine anger. He had a reputation as the galaxy's most effective freelance operative, and failing to deliver on contracts was not the way to maintain it.

The shot had come from a defense turret, Fett had discerned from examining the recordings of the _Slave I_'s external cameras. The list of suspects was short; Calrissian was out, since he had been flying the _Falcon_ at the time, as had Solo's Wookiee companion and Organa's aide Winter. Solo himself had been frozen, and obviously hadn't contributed much of anything to his rescue. Princess Leia had been on a balcony far from the turret, so it couldn't have been her, nor was it Luke Skywalker, as he had been fighting Lord Vader deep within the city at the time.

Fett had thought it to be the traitor Mara Jade, but a last-second clip from one of his cameras as he was crashing revealed that she had also been with the _Falcon_, bringing Organa inside after the princess had jumped from the balcony to the waiting smuggler's vessel.

Cloud City's own internal security cameras were useless; Calrissian or one of his companions had disabled them as they were escaping from the city. Fett had already examined the area around the turret he knew had shot at him, but the evidence he had collected was scanty; the turret had been used by several others as some of Cloud City's residents foolishly tried to repel the Imperial occupation of the city. He had found fibers from a number of different garments, as well as twelve hairs, retrieved as he meticulously went over the entire turret station with every scanner his sophisticated armor possessed, as well as some others he kept aboard his ship. The preliminary comparison had revealed that five different individuals had used the turret or at least been in the area before the stormtroopers had finally captured it.

A small light flashed inside Fett's Heads-Up-Display, informing him that the DNA analysis his ship's computer had been performing on the collected hairs was complete. Fett stirred from his statue-like motionlessness and started walking toward his ship. He startled a technician, who jumped as Fett passed him; apparently, he hadn't heard the hunter coming. Fett ignored him as he went inside _Slave I_.

He moved quickly through the stark, utilitarian interior of his vessel, crossing to the computer which had been performing the analysis. "Report," he ordered.

The computer whirred to life, speaking the information as it simultaneously projected it on its small screen. "_Analysis complete_," the computer intoned in its unnaturally calm mechanical voice.

"_Sample 1: Zeltron, female. Sample 2: Ugnaught, male. Sample 3: Human, male. Sample 4: Human, female. Sample 5: Talz, male."_

"Results of comparison with Cloud City medical database?" Fett inquired, stepping closer to the screen.

"_Three matches_," the computer replied. "_Human male, Ugnaught male, and Talz male. No matches for criminal records or bounties. No known association with Lando Calrissian, Han Solo, Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa-_"

Fett interrupted the computer. "Disregard medical database results."

Whoever had made that shot would, by Fett's own analysis of what had happened, have to both be an extraordinarily accurate shot _and_ know the structural weaknesses of _Firespray_-class patrol ships like _Slave I_. After glancing through the personnel files of the three matches, he concluded that none of them could have been the shooter; the Ugnaught was a technician, who had likely performed maintenance on the turret at some point within the last few days; the Talz was a waiter in one of the casinos, and the male human was a janitor, who might have just been cleaning up before the shooting started; there was no sign anyone had been around the turret since the stormtroopers had secured it. The probability of any of them having the required knowledge was extremely low.

That just left the human female and the Zeltron as the shooter that had disabled his ship. Fett punched up a closer examination of those two samples.

The Zeltron's hairs were a bright shade of red, typical for her species. They were long, nearly sixteen centimeters, and had recently been treated with some sort of exotic hair-care product containing oil made from bantha fat. Fett ordered the computer to analyze the traces of the hair-care product and extrapolate its brand and source while he looked at the human female's sample.

The human female's hairs were black and short, five centimeters long, treated with nothing more than ordinary shampoo. Fett ordered the computer to analyze the traces anyway. The detailed genetic analysis of the skin tag on the end of one of the human female's hairs revealed an 86% match with baseline Kuati DNA, along with 12% Alderaanian and 2% of something that could have been Coruscanti or perhaps Corellian.

Kuati; now _that_ was interesting. _Slave I_ had been originally manufactured at Kuat Drive Yards, and Fett had taken it back there a number of times over the course of his career for additional modifications. There was a high probability that the Kuati woman had either once worked at the Drive Yards like many of her people did, or knew someone who had, and thus would know the weak points of Firesprays.

"_Match_," the computer intoned. "_Substance on Zeltron sample 98% match with ingredients in 'Ossberry Delight Styling Gel', manufactured by Feross Salons, Incorporated, for exclusive distribution through Feross Salons. Feross Salons has three branches open in Cloud City._"

The computer displayed the locations, and since this was one of his few leads and he had nothing else to do while his ship was being repaired, Fett decided to follow up on them. He ordered the computer to perform the most thorough analysis of which it was capable on the Kuati hairs and any trace substances on them while he was out, knowing it would take several hours at least.

The analysis of the clothing fibers he had collected was not yet complete, but it shortly would be, so Fett ordered the ship's computer to send the information to his helmet's computer when it was complete.

He marched back out of his vessel and headed over to the nearest turbolift, which he set to bring him as close as possible to the closest Feross Salon.

Once the turbolift doors opened, Fett emerged next to one of Cloud City's many casinos, which was noisy and garishly lit with a number of lights in various shades of blue, extending well into the ultraviolet spectrum for customers whose senses could perceive that range. Fett ignored the casino, looking around for the salon. He spotted it, lit up with a brightly colored and flashing sign across the hall from the casino's entrance.

Fett marched across the wide, airy white hall and directly into the salon, where he was promptly assaulted by a wide variety of artificial fragrances designed to appeal to a wide variety of olfactory senses. Fett set his helmet's air filters and scrubbers to a higher setting to eliminate the scent, resolving to make his investigation here as brief as possible.

A chime sounded, triggered by a motion sensor that detected his approach, and a cheerful-looking human female with long light-colored hair turned with a smile to the salon's entrance. Upon seeing who had walked in, her smile quickly vanished, replaced by a puzzled, mostly frightened look.

"Can I, um, help you?" she said, nervously looking the armed and armored warrior up and down. He was probably carrying more weapons just on his person than she had ever seen in one place in her life.

Fett walked up to the counter and pointed at the computer next to the receptionist. "You will give me the sales records for 'Ossberry Delight Styling Gel' to female Zeltrons from this branch," he said, his voice flat and emotionless as usual. "This also includes uses of the product in treatments."

The receptionist overcame her nervousness long enough to give him a stunned look, her puzzlement almost amusing.

Almost. "Now," Fett said with just a slight hint of impatience, resting his hand on the blaster rifle slung at his side.

The woman's eyes widened, and she quickly turned to her computer to type in the information. As he looked around the rest of the salon, Fett found the stunned/surprised/terrified looks on some of the patrons and employees almost amusing, too. They'd probably never seen a Mandalorian before, especially not in their salon.

"Um, Mr.… What's your name?" came the voice of the receptionist.

"Fett," the hunter said, turning back around. "Boba Fett."

The already pale woman paled even further, swallowing nervously. "Uh, Mr. Fett, there's only one Zeltron who buys what you were looking for here. Her name's Rexa, and she works in the club on the lower level of the casino across the way."

"Would she be on duty right now?" Fett asked, already suspecting this would turn out to be a waste of his time. Still, ignoring a potential lead was never a good idea.

"Probably," the receptionist answered. "I don't really know her all that well."

"Thank you for your assistance," Fett said, digging into a pouch at his belt. The woman flinched, almost making Fett smirk in amusement again as he brought out his hand. He flipped her a five-credit chit, and she caught it out of reflex, looking back at him with a surprised expression.

With almost military precision, Fett spun on his heel and marched back out of the salon, all too glad to leave it behind. As he was leaving, the sensitive audio pickups in his helmet caught the receptionist speaking quietly but excitedly into a comlink.

"Hello, Sharyn? Yeah, it's me. You will _never_ believe who I just talked to!"

Beneath his helmet, Boba Fett finally did allow himself a smirk.

* * *

A bouncer with more muscle than brains attempted to keep Fett out of the club in the casino, but quickly realized his mistake when Fett stopped and stared him down, despite the nearly twenty centimeters' difference in their height. Looking back into an inscrutable black visor accompanied by an armory's worth of weapons tended to do that to most sentients. After a tense moment, the bouncer stepped aside.

Rexa was one of the club's bartenders, his helmet computer's remote slice of the club's central computer revealed. Her medical records did not appear in the central city database because the casino and the lower-level club were owned by an off-planet corporation, which had its own records. Fett set the helmet computer to slice deeper into the records to get more information while he talked to the Zeltron himself.

The interior of the club was dark, lit only with black-lights and strips of material responsive to that wavelength. Bright, softly glowing strips of green, orange and blue ran in angular patterns along the walls and in paths on the floor, directing patrons to the bar and the tables and booths in the back. The center of the club was cleared for use as a dance floor, which several sentients were making use of, flailing their assorted limbs, tentacles, and other appendages in time to the thumping, driving, bass-heavy music. Fett could feel the music more through the vibrations it was causing in the floor than he could hear it; he set his audio sensors to filter it out.

The Zeltron woman was at the bar, easily distinguishable by the way her bright red hair and pink skin glowed under the black-lights. Her teeth also glowed bright white, as evidenced when she grinned broadly at one of the patrons who paid for a drink and tipped generously. Her uniform was decorated with more of the neon-bright strips, which ran in patterns that accentuated her curves.

"Hey, a Mandalorian!" she said as Fett walked up to the bar. "We don't get… well, _any_ of you guys in here. What can I get you?"

"You are Rexa, correct?" Fett said, casually placing one hand on the top of the blaster rifle slung at his side.

Unperturbed, Rexa grinned even more broadly, tugging gently on a strand of bright red hair. "That's me." Her grin slowly faded. "You're not here to drink, and you're _definitely_ not here to dance." It was not a question, but an observation; Zeltrons had mild empathic abilities, which meant that they could sense the emotions of those around them.

"You fired one of the defense turrets during the Empire's occupation of the city," Fett said, placing one armored gauntlet on the bar. "When?"

Rexa cast a glance around the bar. "Um, I'd prefer if that didn't get around, yeah? The Imps probably didn't appreciate being shot at, y'know?"

Fett nodded slightly, gesturing with his other hand at one of the booths several meters away. Rexa turned and called to the other bartender that she was taking her break, then followed him to the booth. Fett activated the booth's noise-canceling field, which had the added benefit of muting the music, as well as making their conversation inaudible to anyone outside it.

"You're not checking me out for the Empire, are you?" Rexa asked nervously as she sat down.

Fett placed both hands on the table between them. "No," he replied. "The reward would not be worth my time. I am interested only in information."

Rexa twirled a strand of hair around her finger again. "So then, what do you want to know?"

"Someone shot down my ship," Fett said coldly. "I would like to know who."

Rexa's light pink skin flushed darker, a sign of nervousness. "W-Well, it wasn't me," she said quickly. "I was shooting at the dropships and TIE fighters."

Fett interlocked his gloved fingers, leaning back in the booth slightly. "Did you see the person who used the turret before you?"

She nodded. "Yeah, it was a human girl, maybe about my height, with short dark hair." Rexa let out a light, amused snort. "Funny thing was, she was dressed like a Sith. I was wondering about that, but I didn't stop to talk to her, 'cause she looked like she was in a hurry, and I didn't want to be on the wrong end of a lightsaber, if you get what I'm saying."

Sith? Now that was odd. Why would one of Lord Vader's students be shooting at him? That was cause for further investigation, and a valuable clue.

Fett withdrew another five-credit chit from his belt and slid it across the table to Rexa, who stared at him in puzzlement. "Thank you for your assistance," Fett said as he got up. He paused and turned to look back at her. "I would advise against resisting the Empire further," he added. "There is little you could do to drive them from this city, and if they did leave, they would just destroy you once their troops were withdrawn."

"Uh… okay," Rexa said, giving him another puzzled look.

Fett quickly left the club and its pounding music behind, headed back to his ship.

* * *

Just as he entered _Slave I_, the computer alerted Boba Fett that it had finished its analysis of the clothing fibers. Confirming Rexa's story, some of the fibers were indeed from the fabric generally used to make Sith robes.

Fett then set his computer to abandon the search for more information about the Zeltron and programmed it to slice into the records for all security cameras in the sections the Imperials had been in before Solo and his companions arrived and during their detainment. He set the search parameters to isolate any humans of Kuati facial features, then went up to the cockpit to sit in the pilot's chair and think.

Boba Fett had been in the freezing room with Lord Vader and Jade while the preparations to freeze Solo had been made, and during that time, he knew a young Sith woman had come in several times to report to the Emperor. Fett remembered she had dark hair, but hadn't been paying much attention to her at the time.

Why would a Sith want to shoot down his ship? Was the young woman a traitor, secretly trying to aid the Rebellion? Or perhaps, considering that Vader's apprentice Darth Nova had been aboard _Slave I_ at the time, had she been attempting to eliminate a rival? Considering what he knew of the Sith, the latter possibility was more likely, though her being a double agent was also highly probable.

"_Search complete,_" the computer intoned. "_Displaying results_."

Fett looked over at the screen, and confirmed his suspicion; the dark-haired Kuati woman who had been at the turret was indeed the same one who had reported to Vader before Solo was frozen.

"Cross-reference with Imperial personnel database," Fett ordered.

"_Searching_," the computer replied. "_Search complete. Displaying files._"

The young woman's name was Malysa Kolos, and according to her Imperial personnel file, she had been recruited three years ago after capture at Tatooine. At the time, she had been a Jedi under the tutelage of one Master Sunrider, who was listed as deceased, killed by Lord Vader during the battle. The file went on to say that after being personally reeducated by Lord Vader, Kolos had sworn herself to the Sith Order and the Emperor. Since then, she had mostly been stationed aboard the _Executor_, but had been sent on classified assignments multiple times.

Fett went back to the section on Kolos's known background. She was originally from the planet Kuat, the daughter of technicians who worked in the orbital shipyards. She had one brother, Tyraj, who also had an Imperial personnel file; he was listed as a stormtrooper serving in the 501st Legion. Tyraj Kolos, trooper number TK-421, also served aboard the _Executor_ along with all the other members of Vader's Fist.

Malysa Kolos had been captured at the same time as Leia Organa, shortly before the Battle of Yavin, when Vader seized control of Alderaan in response to finally proving the Organas were members of the Rebellion. In fact, Kolos had been captured aboard the _Tantive IV,_ since Organa had apparently been attempting to bring Kolos, her master, and the fellow student who had also been killed by Vader to the Rebellion; they had evidently only stopped at Tatooine to pick up Obi-Wan Kenobi and Luke Skywalker, who had been hiding there before Han Solo brought them to Alderaan, where they rescued the Organas before Vader could execute them.

There was no official confirmation that Kenobi and Skywalker had been on Tatooine, but since Fett personally knew Solo had been there just before the _Millennium Falcon_ was seen on Alderaan, and it was highly unlikely he had stopped anywhere else first, there could not be any other place where the Corellian smuggler could have encountered the Jedi.

If Kolos had been a Jedi before her capture, it was certainly possible that she was a double agent trying to help the Rebellion now. When she shot down his ship, it had prevented him from capturing the _Millennium Falcon_, which had rescued Leia Organa from the city along with the rest of Solo's companions. Could Kolos have aided Organa and the others because the Alderaanian princess once tried to help her?

Or was it the other possibility? Kolos could have been turned to the Dark Side by Darth Vader, and was now just as much of a Sith as the rest of the Dark Lord's students. If this was true, she would have shot down Fett's ship in an attempt to kill Darth Nova, Vader's Sith Apprentice and future leader of the Order. Perhaps, since Vader had trained her himself, Kolos thought he would choose her as his new apprentice since Jade had abandoned him.

There was really only one way to confirm which of the two possibilities was true, Fett knew; he would have to talk to Kolos himself. Her brother the stormtrooper could also perhaps be a source of information about her, since they served together aboard the Emperor's flagship.

The _Slave I_'s comm buzzed, interrupting Fett's thoughts, and he moved his gloved hand over to answer. "Fett here," he said, looking at the small holoprojector mounted in the console.

Jabba the Hutt's majordomo Bib Fortuna appeared, smiling obsequiously, lightly tapping the claw-like nails of his hands together. "_His Excellency, Jabba the Hutt, desires to speak with you, Hunter Fett,_" he said, his head-tails, called _lekku_ by his people, twitching out an insult he probably thought Fett could not understand.

Fett nodded silently, indicating his acceptance of the message, and gave no indication that he knew what Fortuna's _lekku_ had signed at him. He would save that surprise for the next time he was at the palace. Few Twi'leks could say one thing and sign another with their head-tails, since it apparently required a great deal of concentration. If Fortuna had wanted to show his disdain for Fett, he could certainly have found an easier way, but that was just the way Jabba's majordomo was.

The bloated, grossly corpulent form of Jabba the Hutt appeared in the projector, glaring at Fett with his huge yellow eyes. "_Where is Solo_?" he bellowed in Huttese. _"I expected you to deliver him to me days ago!_"

"There were… complications," Fett said calmly. "Solo and his companions managed to escape the city, with help from an Imperial traitor." _Two, actually_, he added silently.

"_You are supposed to be the best bounty hunter in the galaxy_," Jabba grumbled. "_I'm paying you well enough for you to deal with any 'complications', no matter what they are."_

"I'll find Solo again," Fett said. "It will be difficult, but not impossible. You'll have your prize, Jabba."

"_You had better do it quickly,_" Jabba said threateningly. "_Or it might be you I feed to my rancor._"

Boba Fett was not a man easily provoked to anger, but that was going too far. "It's not wise to threaten me," Fett said coldly. "You know what I'm capable of."

It was biologically impossible for Hutts to pale with fear as humans did, but the slight widening of Jabba's eyes made it obvious he was feeling the same emotion behind that particular reaction. He knew all too well just what Boba Fett could do; just because Jabba had been the one who had paid Fett to perform some of his more infamous exploits did not mean the Hunter would have any compunctions about performing one of his spectacular acts of destruction on the Hutt if provoked.

In fact, Fett had once infiltrated Jabba's palace to prove to him that it was not secure enough; he could easily do so again with assassination on his mind. Even a being as wealthy and powerful as the gangster Jabba the Hutt was not safe from the most deadly warrior in the galaxy.

Still, Jabba could not allow himself to be seen as weak, Fett knew. The Hutt summoned anger again for his response. "_If you cannot capture Solo,_" he said, narrowing his eyes, "_I will hire someone who can._"

Fett shrugged. "If there was somebody out there besides me who could catch him, they would have done it already. You're welcome to look, but if you want results, you know how to contact me."

With that, he cut the transmission. Most sentients would do anything to avoid angering a Hutt, especially Jabba, but both Boba Fett and the gangster knew there was nothing Jabba could throw at him that had a chance. Jabba couldn't very well send Boba Fett after himself, now could he?

To pass the time until the mechanics finished repairing his ship, Fett logged into the HoloNet and searched for recently posted bounties worthy of his time and skills.

* * *

Six months later, after several jobs both big and small, Boba Fett made an interesting discovery.

It was a standard practice of his to have his scanners constantly searching for other bounty hunters' ships, in case someone else was onto something interesting he might not know about; more than once, tracking other hunters' movements had yielded substantial rewards for Fett.

Thus, when _Slave I_ alerted him that it had detected the _Venesectrix_, a ship registered to one Ree Duptom, a lowlife who had the dubious distinction of being the only sentient ever kicked out of the Bounty Hunter's Guild for behavior even _they_ considered unscrupulous, and in a sector very far from his usual area of activity, Fett decided to investigate.

Duptom had to stick to the fringe to find work ever since he had been ejected from the Guild; only the most successful hunters like Boba Fett could remain independent of the Guild and still manage to find well-paying contracts. Therefore, if the _Venesectrix _was this far coreward, it had to be for a good reason, and thus was worthy of Fett's attention.

Fett sent his starship in on an intercept course, hailing Duptom's ship. He received no response, and when he moved closer, he saw why; the _Venesectrix_ was dead in space, drifting aimlessly without control. By the looks of it, Duptom's vessel hadn't been in the best condition to start with, but something had gone wrong with it, and recently.

Duptom was probably dead, but still, there could be something valuable aboard, whether in information or other hard merchandise. Duptom had to be out here for a reason, and that might very well be a profitable one. Fett sent the _Slave I_ in to link up with the airlock and force it open after confirming breathable atmosphere.

Boba Fett loaded up his weapons and waited by the hatch, watching as his vessel established a link with the _Venesectrix_. He set the remote slicer to get into Duptom's files and download them to his own databanks while he looked around.

The inside of the _Venesectrix_ was filthy, with food wrappers and other refuse scattered around uncaringly, as if Duptom just tossed his garbage away when he was done with it and never bothered to clean up. That certainly matched his reputation as scum. Fett curled his lip in disgust inside his helmet, considering turning around and leaving right then.

But then he heard a faint noise, a scraping sound, audible mainly because the rest of the ship was deathly silent. Fett brought up his rifle and moved further inside. As he looked inside the cockpit, he saw a body slumped on the floor, dead for at least three days by the state of decomposition.

The body was face-up; Fett recognized the corpse as the _Venesectrix_'s owner, Ree Duptom. He had been exposed to radiation, by the looks of it, though Fett's sensors told him that the only radiation leak powerful enough to be lethal was in the engine compartment, contained there by the emergency bulkheads. Apparently, Duptom had killed himself through his own stupidity by improperly maintaining his engines. He'd received his lethal dose of radiation when attempting to fix them, then staggered up here to die.

Fett left the body behind and continued his investigation. His remote slicer was only about one-fifth done taking Duptom's files, so he had time. He followed the sound of the scraping to the cargo hold, where he found something surprising; there was indeed a survivor aboard the _Venesectrix_, a young human female with dark hair, severely malnourished and dehydrated. Her breathing was weak and ragged; she'd obviously been down here since Duptom died, and he hadn't been keeping her in very good condition to begin with.

Fett moved to the cargo cage and wrenched open the door, setting his rifle aside to drag the young woman out of the cage. Her violet eyes fluttered open as he did so, and she looked up at him before drifting back into unconsciousness.

She was obviously some of Duptom's hard merchandise, but after scanning her face with his helmet sensors and comparing it to the HoloNet database, Fett found no registered bounty posted for the young woman. So what was Duptom doing with her?

Even scum like Duptom didn't go around kidnapping people for no reason; there had to be somebody who had paid him to take this young woman somewhere, and since she had been locked in a cage, it was a certainty the trip hadn't been her idea.

Fett went back inside his ship to get his medkit, then returned to the _Venesectrix_'s cargo hold. He prepared an intravenous nutrient drip with his supplies and quickly, efficiently located a vein and inserted the sterilized needle. As he waited for her to stabilize so that he could move her, Fett examined the young woman further.

Despite her current condition, she had obviously once been in far better shape; her skin, hair and teeth were in excellent condition -or had been before she had been locked in a cage for at least four days- and her hands were manicured, indicating she was wealthy. Before the incompetent Duptom had accidentally starved and dehydrated her by getting himself killed, she had been in good health, further reinforcing the probability of wealth. She was wearing a nondescript jumpsuit, but it was ill-fitting, more than likely belonging to Duptom himself.

On either side of her head, on her temples, were small wounds that had scabbed over, small punctures that had traces of what looked like electrical burns surrounding them.

Suspicious, Fett looked around the cargo hold, and quickly located what he thought had made the wounds: a metallic, spidery-looking device with a number of prongs and small needles. Fett gave the device a contemptuous kick, inwardly confirming his suspicions.

Duptom had performed a memory wipe on his prisoner, and from her unconscious condition, not entirely a result of her malnutrition, he had obviously had no great concern for her well-being when he had done so. So, that raised the question of why. Who was this young woman, where had she come from, and what did she know that someone didn't want her to know?

And, most important, how could Boba Fett turn this to a profit for himself?

* * *

As the young woman he had found recovered in _Slave I_'s medical bay, Fett analyzed Duptom's files. After making sure there was nothing else that could be of use to him aboard, Fett had left the _Venesectrix_ behind to float on in the cold of space by itself, a coffin for its unfortunately idiotic owner. Upon further analysis, there was a possibility that Duptom's engine malfunction had been caused by sabotage, but by that point Fett was no longer even slightly concerned about Duptom or how he had died. All that mattered from the encounter was now aboard his own vessel.

While the young woman was out, being fed a steady stream of replenishing nutrients in _Slave I_'s medical bay, Fett ran a number of other tests on her, searching for her identity with his computers. He found nothing about her through the various databases he consulted, but his medical computer's analysis of her blood sample confirmed that she was Kuati, as he had thought from looking at her. Her genetic sequence marked her as a member of one of the noble houses, though to find out which one he would have to go to Kuat and slice into the computers there; such information was not available off-world, even to his sophisticated slicing programs.

Now the question was, who would kidnap a daughter of a Kuati noble house, and use a lowlife like Duptom to do it? Obviously, whoever it was did not want to kill her, but from the crude memory wipe Duptom had given her, they didn't much care for her state of mind. They just needed her out of the way somewhere, not knowing who she was or whatever it was she knew that had caused Duptom's employer to have this done to her.

There was nothing in Duptom's files that gave a clue as to who had hired him for this job, other than that he had been on Tatooine shortly before he came out here. Duptom did not keep an organized log, and even his flight data recorder was half-scrambled by poor maintenance.

The young woman's brain, Fett's scans revealed, had only been affected in the area that processed and retrieved personal memories; she would be able to speak, to walk, recall general facts, but anything to do with her personally was scrambled, possibly damaged beyond retrieval by Duptom's crude wipe. Effective, but sloppy; Duptom could just as easily have killed her or left her insensate through his shoddy work. More promising, this meant that there was a possibility that the memory wipe was not permanent, and could be overcome.

Interrupting his thoughts, the long-range comm buzzed, and Fett reached across the cockpit console to answer it. "Fett here."

A clipped, Coruscanti-accented answered him. "_Hunter Fett, I have a message from Lord Vader. He has an assignment for you, if you are interested. Coordinates for the _Executor_'s current location will be sent if you accept."_

"Send them," Fett replied. "I'm on my way."

The _Executor_, the coordinates indicated, was far from the center of the Empire, off near the Unknown Regions. What Vader was doing out there, Fett didn't know, nor did he particularly care, as long as the Emperor made the trip worth his time.

After setting the navicomputer for the hyperspace jump, Fett went down to the medical bay. On the way, he thought about this latest series of events; on the _Executor_, he would have the opportunity to investigate the young woman who had shot at his ship, as well as perhaps find out more about this Kuati woman, seemingly unconnected to the other, though discounting a connection entirely would be unwise.

He stopped in the doorway of the small medical bay, barely more than an alcove in the wall with a diagnostic bed and life-support equipment, and looked down at the unconscious young woman he had taken from Duptom's vessel, festooned with nutrient lines and other tubes. Again, Fett wondered who she was and why Duptom had her, but the other bounty hunter was dead, his files nearly useless, so he would have to find out through other means.

* * *

When he rendezvoused with the _Executor_, Boba Fett was quickly shown from the docking bay -where he left _Slave I_ with instructions to alert him if his passenger's condition changed- to a briefing room on the deck above. Fett had been aboard Vader's flagship often enough that he did not require a guide to show him the way, and so he ignored the stormtrooper escort on the way through the cold, harshly lit halls, his boots clicking on the dull gray plates of the deck.

Everything Imperial was in some shade of black, gray or white; Fett himself in his green-and-gray armor was an incongruous splash of color, and though he saw that many crewmen stared at him as he passed, he ignored them.

Darth Vader and Grand Admiral Thrawn were waiting for him, alone; even the red-robed Royal Guard were standing outside.

Thrawn was, as usual, wearing his white Grand Admiral's uniform, his blue-black hair precisely arranged in perfect military regulation. Vader, also as usual, stood out in contrast to his highest-ranking officer, wearing all black. He had begun growing a beard since the last time Fett had seen him, the hunter noted.

Vader looked less and less like the Anakin Skywalker who had been at the battle on Geonosis where Boba Fett's father had died all the time; with his mechanical eye and grim bearing, it was increasingly easy to forget that he had once been a brash, confident young man, the Hero With No Fear of Clone Wars fame.

"We have an assignment for you, Hunter Fett," Thrawn said, looking across the briefing table at him.

"Jabba the Hutt had hired you to bring him Han Solo," Vader said as he crossed his arms over his chest, his cloak falling forward over his shoulders. "Due to a number of factors during the events at Bespin, you were unable to do so. Therefore, Jabba has likely contacted you to show his anger, has he not?"

Fett nodded once. "He has."

"Imperial Intelligence has discovered a plot to assassinate Jabba," Thrawn said. "While it is true that such plots are common in the Hutt's palace, this particular conspiracy shows signs of being far more organized than the usual attempts." He clasped his hands behind his back. "Under the guise of offering to protect the Hutt against such an occurrence, you will go to Jabba's palace and see to it that this plot succeeds."

"You want me to kill Jabba?" Fett asked.

"No," Vader replied. "I want you to make sure the other conspirators succeed. While I have no doubt that you could easily accomplish such a task, the blame needs to be placed on those who are already planning the assassination." Vader's comlink buzzed just then, and he glanced down at the small device for a moment. "Please excuse me," he said, tucking the comlink back into his pocket. He gestured to the Grand Admiral. "Thrawn will explain the rest, if you need more information."

With that, he left, his long black cloak sweeping out behind him as he strode out of the room. Fett glanced after him, then returned his attention to the Grand Admiral.

"Why does Vader want Jabba dead?" Fett asked. "If he dies, his criminal empire is going to dissolve into a mob war as his lieutenants and the other Hutts fight over his holdings."

"That is the idea," Thrawn replied. "Lord Vader has decided that a fight over Jabba's holdings will destabilize the Hutts enough for him to crack down more tightly on the illicit slave trade. He has grown tired of the Hutts and their allies ignoring his edict banning slavery within the Empire's borders. They continue to smuggle slaves through Imperial space, and so Lord Vader has decided to put a stop to it."

Boba Fett knew exactly why Darth Vader despised slavery so much, but he did not mention it. Instead he said, "In return for this, I'd like some information through your intelligence network." He tilted his head forward slightly. "In addition to my payment."

Thrawn's blue-black brows lifted slightly. "An unusual request."

"I recently found a young Kuati woman, -a noble, I think- and I want to know why she was where I found her," Fett said. "Imperial Intelligence is the fastest way to find out. I was going to take her to Jabba's palace and see if anyone there recognized her, but since that place is shortly going to become a war zone with your plans, it wouldn't be safe there. She's not worth anything dead."

Thrawn's expression remained neutral, though there was a thoughtful glimmer in his glowing red eyes. "Kuati, you say," the Grand Admiral said, pausing for a moment. "Very well, Fett; give me what information you have on this passenger of yours, and I will see what I can find out."

"How long?" Fett asked.

"Half a day at least," Thrawn replied. "Can you stay on the _Executor_ that long?"

Fett slowly nodded once, thinking of his other task here. "I'll find some way to occupy myself."

* * *

Finding Malysa Kolos, it turned out, was easier than Fett had expected; she passed him in the hall on his way back to _Slave I_.

"Malysa Kolos," Fett said, stopping in front of her with his hand on the blaster rifle at his side. "I wish to speak with you."

The dark-haired young woman stopped, and there was a brief flicker of nervousness in her eyes, though her expression quickly shifted into a haughty mask, as if being stopped was an annoyance.

"You're that bounty hunter Lord Vader hires sometimes," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "What do you want, hunter? I'm busy."

Fett stared at her silently for a moment, closely observing her face and body language. The arrogant demeanor, he suspected, was just an act to cover her fear.

"You shot down my ship over Cloud City six months ago," Fett said. "I want to know why." He shifted his rifle. "Depending on your answer, I may or may not tell Lord Vader about the traitor in his ranks."

Kolos attempted to maintain her irritated expression as one hand absently plucked at the black fabric of her outer robe, though more than a little fear made its way through. "Follow me," she said finally.

Fett watched her closely as she led him to a side room a short distance down the corridor, in case this was some kind of trap. He'd killed Jedi before, and would not hesitate to do so even now, if this was a trick. This young woman was barely into her twenties; he'd killed Jedi Masters three times her age and skill.

Kolos stopped before a control station for a turbolaser emplacement and went inside. Fett joined her, but left his hand on the grip of the blaster rifle at his side, his finger only a millimeter from the trigger.

Inside, Kolos turned to him and crossed her arms again. "All right, yes," she said. "I admit it; I shot down your ship at Bespin. But," she added quickly, holding up one hand, "I didn't do it to help Solo and his friends."

"Why, then?" Fett said, shifting his blaster rifle again, so that the muzzle was pointed at the Sith's chest, specifically her heart.

Kolos paused for just a moment, glancing down at the muzzle of Fett's blaster rifle. He did not move it.

"Darth Nova was on _Slave I_," Kolos said finally. "I was trying to kill him."

"You've had plenty of opportunities since your capture at Tatooine," Fett said, noting that, although her face remained largely passive, there was a slight tightening around her eyes; she was a good actress, but not good enough to keep Fett from noting her surprise that he knew that about her.

"Your ship was chasing the Rebels," she said. "If I made it look like they shot you down, that took care of my problem. Lord Vader doesn't approve of assassination as a means of moving up in the ranks, but that's how the old Sith, the _true_ Sith, did things." She lifted her chin. "Lord Vader has said before how impressed he is with my skills; if I kill Nova, he's certain to choose me as his new apprentice."

Kolos shrugged lightly, affecting a mockingly apologetic smirk. "It was nothing personal against you, Fett," she said, spreading her hands. "You just happened to be in the way."

Fett stared at her for a moment, carefully watching her reactions. Only a Sith would be arrogant enough to be so dismissive to him.

He leaned in closer to her, bringing up the muzzle of his blaster rifle to rest against her collarbone, pressing lightly against the hollow of her throat. "The next time you decide to arrange an 'accident' for one of your superiors," he said dangerously, "make sure it doesn't involve costing me a bounty and wrecking my ship."

Kolos's eyes widened in apprehension; not even a Sith could stop a blaster bolt at this range, and she knew it. She raised her hands, keeping them well away from the lightsaber at her side.

"In return for not killing you right here and now," Fett went on, "you are going to do something for me."

"C-Certainly," Kolos said, edging backwards a half-step.

Fett extended his arm, keeping the muzzle of his rifle in place. "I have a woman aboard my ship," he said. "You are going to personally see to it that she recovers here aboard the _Executor_, where you will keep her, without alerting anyone else aboard, until I come for her."

"How am I going to do that?" Kolos asked, her hands dropping slightly.

Fett pressed his blaster harder into her neck, and her hands snapped back up to where they had been. "That's your problem," he said. "I need a place to keep her for a while, and there's no place more secure in this galaxy than aboard Darth Vader's flagship. The _Executor_ is nineteen kilometers long; you'll be able to find some place out of the way to hide one woman."

"How are we going to get her off your ship without anyone noticing?" Kolos asked.

Fett took a step back, lowering his rifle, though he still left the muzzle pointed in her direction. "I'm going to be here for most of the day," he said. "We'll work something out." He finally lowered his rifle altogether. "Find a reason to be in the docking bay in two hours," he said.

With that, he turned and left the young Sith behind.

* * *

"Her name," said Grand Admiral Thrawn, three hours later, "is Kateel of Kuhlvult."

Boba Fett looked down at the holo displayed by the projector between himself and the Grand Admiral in Thrawn's private command room, essentially a small office not far from the bridge. The pictured woman was definitely the same one he and Malysa Kolos had just smuggled into the depths of the _Executor_, but wearing the typical clothes of Kuati nobility, her hair elaborately arranged around her head.

"That was fast," he said.

"I have an agent planted within House Kuhlvult," Thrawn replied, leaning forward slightly in his chair. "Kateel has not been seen for almost a Standard month, and while the excuse in the household is that she is visiting one of the family's southern villas, my agent suspected differently."

Fett was curious as to why Thrawn had an agent placed in one of the Kuati noble houses, but he knew better than to ask. However, that fit another crucial piece into the puzzle; if there was an excuse within the family as to why Kateel was missing, that meant whoever had kidnapped her was a member of the household, probably a high-ranking one.

"Any ideas as to who kidnapped her?" Fett asked.

Thrawn shook his head. "My agent did not know. However, until I learn the truth, Kateel will be quite safe here. You and young Kolos did not need to go to all the trouble of smuggling her to the lower decks."

Only his great self-control kept Fett from flinching in surprise. "You knew?" he said evenly, betraying no emotion.

Thrawn's lips quirked in a slight smile as he gestured to the walls of his command room, hung with various artworks. "Even though this starship is the size of a small city, I would not be an effective commander if I did not know everything that went on inside its hull. The young woman will remain under my custody until she recovers, during which time I will learn who kidnapped her and why, though I already have my suspicions."

"You Imperials are starting to develop a bad habit of taking things from me," Fett said, shifting the blaster rifle at his side.

Thrawn shrugged minutely, tapping his fingers together a few times as he propped his elbows on the arms of his chair. "As compensation, I have another contract for you, one for me personally."

"I'm listening," Fett replied.

"I want you to investigate a planet called Myrkr," Thrawn said, "specifically, some of the local fauna, details of which I will provide upon your acceptance. In addition to this and giving me any information you have on young Kateel's kidnapping, I will pay you fifty thousand credits."

Fett had to think about this for only a moment. "Done," he said. "When Jabba's dead, I'll head for Myrkr."

"It has been a pleasure doing business with you, Hunter Fett," said Thrawn.

Fett turned and left the command room with only a slight nod as reply.

* * *

Malysa Kolos slumped down into a chair in her quarters on the _Executor_, exhausted. Twice today, _twice_, she thought she had been found out and was about to die.

The first time had been bad enough, when she had had to make up a convincing story in front of Boba Fett, but when Grand Admiral Thrawn had personally surprised her while transporting Boba Fett's mysterious passenger, Malysa had thought she was only moments away from being killed during the entire conversation.

She was still positive Thrawn hadn't bought her story about wanting to get rid of Darth Nova, but for whatever reason, he had let her go, telling her that the young woman was her responsibility while she was aboard the _Executor,_ and that Malysa was now in his debt for keeping her 'disloyalties' quiet.

Truthfully, Malysa hadn't even known Darth Nova was on board the _Slave I_ when she had shot it down; she'd only learned this when Nova had raged about it to Lord Vader later, complaining that he should have killed Fett for losing Solo and the others. She was actually rather proud of herself for thinking of that one, especially since it appeared Fett had believed her.

Over the last three and a half years, Malysa had gotten better and better at lying, being able to make up convincing stories very quickly so as to cover for her actions while gathering information to leak to the Rebellion. It was either that or get caught by the Sith and die slowly and painfully.

"_It won't be too much longer_," said the voice of her teacher, her one ally and confidant in this place. "_What you are doing is greatly aiding those on the side of right, and the time has almost come when you will be ready to leave this place and join them._"

Malysa didn't bother looking up; she wouldn't be able to see him, anyway, since he wasn't really here. "I hope so, Master," she said. "I don't think I can take much more of this."

She felt a sort of warm reassurance, as if the Jedi Master had placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "_You are strong, Malysa,_" he said. "_And it is only a little while longer. Just hold on till then._"

Though the Jedi Master was not really there -as he had explained it, he was now on a higher plane of existence- she felt the impression in her mind of a bearded face smiling warmly, and then his presence was gone.

Trying to stop her hands from shaking, Malysa Kolos leaned back in her chair and looked out at the stars.

* * *

-/\-

* * *

Author's Note: Those of you who have read '_The Bounty Hunter Wars_' trilogy by K.W. Jeter will recognize the plotline I am adapting to this AU; I found Kateel, or Neelah, as she is called in those books at first, to be an interesting character, one whose situation presented intriguing possibilities for the 'One Missed Strike' universe. Expect to see more of her in the future.

Thanks goes to my beta reader, Silverwolf05, for looking this story over and making her usual helpful suggestions. She is writing the next and final oneshot in this collection, which sets up a key plot in '_One Missed Strike, Part III_':

_'Power Behind the Throne_': Ysanne Isard, Director of Imperial Intelligence, exerts a considerable amount of influence over Darth Vader's Empire. So much so that, when a decision of Vader's angers her, Isard begins to plot a way to seize the Empire for herself...

Till next time, thanks for reading!


	5. Power Behind the Throne

**Power Behind the Throne**

by Silverwolf05

Against the hazy sunrise, the dark shapes of thousands of starscraper spires lurching above the fog-swollen underbelly of Coruscant appeared like the wave of a patient's palpitating heartbeat under the knife of a surgeon. Hundreds of traffic lanes, moving between the erratic spikes, were already clogged despite the early hours, funneling criminals, workers, soldiers, smugglers, and high-ranking senators to their respective locations. And in the center, disrupting the angular, spiking lines of the prosperous city, sat the bulbous mass of the Senate Rotunda.

"That building is a cancer," Ysanne Isard stated as she stared out at the domed structure. She wished, as she did every morning when her shuttle carried her to the Imperial Intelligence Headquarters, that Vader would destroy the Senate Rotunda, as well as the pungent ideologies of the withered old politicians inside. Her knowledge of how resistant individuals could be to change was the only reason she had accepted Emperor Palpatine's decision to keep the practice in place when he had transformed the Galactic Republic into the Galactic Empire. But over twenty years had passed since that act. Twenty years of laws, ignorance, and treaties that had left the Senate practically powerless in light of the Emperor's authority. And yet, despite the fact that few would question his motives for doing so, Vader proved too cowardly to abolish the final principles of the Republic and transform their government into a true Empire.

She scowled. A true emperor, like her Palpatine, had to be cunning, ruthless, and absolutely devoted to the control of power. He should be ruling his people with an iron fist, not fuddling his way across the galaxy in a halfhearted attempt to subdue a band of renegades.

Perhaps if he hadn't destroyed the weapons at the secret Maw Installation, this war would be over by now, Ysanne fumed. Through her numerous connections as Director of Imperial Intelligence, she had secretly retrieved some of the information on Vader's destruction of Palpatine and Tarkin's hidden base. Most of the weapon schematics had been lost, but she held the fragments of a few, including the Ionic Ring, the Sun Crusher, and the Death Star. She fingered the datapad on her lap, where she had pulled up the image of the moon-sized space station capable of destroying an entire planet.

If only her Emperor Palpatine hadn't perished on Mustafar! What great things he would have accomplished! Her frustration at her true Emperor's death had led Ysanne to spend every free moment for the past twenty years searching for his killer, the Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi. Upon hearing of his death at the hands of Darth Vader, she had only felt a morsel of satisfaction. Jedi powers be damned – she had wanted to torture the man herself.

Isard shifted her focus to her own reflection, staring back at her from the curve of the shuttle window with mismatched eyes, one ice-blue and the other a fiery red through some fluke of genetics. 'Iceheart', some called her, for her infamous coldly furious temper. But sometimes, her ire flared red-hot, capricious and unpredictable as flame. The two different colors of her eyes reflected the extremes in her personality, it was said, an assessment Ysanne herself agreed with. Beyond that, she secretly enjoyed the unsettling effect her mismatched eyes had on others, putting them off-balance from the first moment they met her. Most sentients inadvertently blurted out things they ordinarily would not have when confronted with her intimidating glare, a most useful trait for an Intelligence operative.

The shuttle curved on its path to the right, hiding the Senate Rotunda behind scores of starscrapers. To be honest, Ysanne felt somewhat relieved not to be able see the obtrusive mass anymore, but scowled for good measure and turned back to her datapads, scrolling through the cases she was monitoring.

In fifteen minutes, the shuttle touched down at the Imperial Intelligence Headquarters. The looming black building glistened like obsidian in the early light, with sharp lines shooting up the sides like the ribs on the primordial ancestor of man. It was sometimes remarked upon as one of the most noticeable buildings on Coruscant, both for its size and design, with its ribbed walls that revealed few windows, and the sparse landing pads for ships, painted dark to blend in with the rest of the structure. A few of the braver pundits had compared Intelligence Headquarters to a massive loaded weapon aimed at all passersby. Ysanne had found the comments amusing rather than offensive, for that actually was the desired effect.

When Ysanne stepped off the shuttle, she was met with six aides standing at perfect attention in two lines. Six crisp uniforms, immaculate stances, and perfect silence. Ysanne didn't nod to acknowledge them when she passed between the two rows; they didn't expect her to, and simply fell in line behind her as she strode towards the imposing form of the Imperial Intelligence Headquarters.

As soon as she entered the gray-slab doors, two aides handed her several datapads and gave a quick synopsis of the main issues they were investigating. One involved a smuggling ring that they had pinpointed to the Sargesso asteroids. Another involved a small group demanding to speak to the Emperor on account of a political injustice, though Ysanne knew it was a front for an assassination attempt.

A third aide handed Ysanne the latest reports regarding their investigation of the potential Beta Source candidates. So far, no one had been proven to be the elusive double-agent, but no one had been counted out either. Ysanne scrolled through the information gathered since the previous night and scowled. It was a pitiful amount, though she was glad the agents had not inflated the reports with repetitive information to make themselves look like they had done more work. She knew from her own research that there was little to be found.

She stopped on a catwalk three stories above the central investigation room, a large, circular area filled with screens, computer stations, and holo-tables. The insignia of the Imperial Intelligence Division was engraved on the floor in the center of the room, with the machines purposefully placed near the edges. It was inconvenient at times, and there had been comments about the waste of space, but it was important, Ysanne felt, to have their symbol constantly present.

Most of it, she knew, was for her own benefit. She had poured more hours and blood into that symbol and the power it represented than even she knew. It had started before she had become the Director of Imperial Intelligence, before she had framed her father and had him killed, back even before she had been a pre-teen meeting with high-ranking officers who had sloppily given her top-secret information because they underestimated her.

No, Ysanne determined. This was part of her, as much as her father was a part of her; it was a bloodline of sorts that had claimed her at birth to rule. Despite the misgivings of some of the other high-ranking members of the Imperial hierarchy, she had prevailed and become one of the most important members of the Empire. Arguably, only a handful of sentients in the entire galaxy could lay claim to more power or influence than Ysanne Isard.

She felt the datapads between her fingers. Those lives were in her hands. When she decided, they would either be destroyed or spared. All she had to do was speak.

The agents, moving from station to station or delivering information to others, paced over the angular shape of the insignia. As their black boot-heels brushed the glossy material, the details vanished, and, for a moment, they seemed to become an extension of the institution they served. Ysanne smiled, and leaned against the railing for a second to watch the motions of the busy hive while the aides continued to update her on known issues.

One aide mentioned the Beta Source again, and Ysanne drew herself further back to the conversation in hopes that they had learned something new. But, as she had suspected, the information was inconclusive; the Admiral in question had merely made a purchase from a merchant suspected of selling also to the Rebels.

"That data is useless," Ysanne said, casting an annoyed glance at the young man. He was a Kiffar, with unremarkable features, dark hair and three red clan markings below his right eye. _He's new,_ Ysanne remembered when she recalled his face, and sensed he was trying to make a good impression. But being new did not entitle him to stupidity.

"Every man, woman, and child in the vicinity uses that old merchant," Ysanne continued. "Even Lord Vader has been known to purchase from him, though indirectly." She lifted an eyebrow and smiled leeringly. "And are you saying that Lord Vader is a traitor?"

The aide immediately flushed with embarrassment. "No, Madam Director," he stammered. "Certainly not!"

"What, didn't think of that?" Ysanne shoved the datapad back into the man's hands and turned to look over the central room. "Interrupt me only if you find something _useful_."

The man's heels clicked together and he offered a tight salute before scurrying away to accomplish his task. Ysanne smiled, pleased with the knowledge that the man would work twice as hard now as he had ever worked before. Those who wished to keep their jobs and their lives did not disappoint Ysanne Isard more than once, if even that.

Still, her smile faded when she thought about the Beta Source dilemma. The presence of certain factors in the individuals' backgrounds, such as smuggling, familial ties to the Rebellion, and so on, categorized each of the names as potentials for the Beta Source. But so far, all roads had led to dead ends so generalized that she may as well accuse half the galaxy of treason. She scowled. Was the Beta Source even one of the names on the list?

Another aide approached her and held out a datapad to the Director. Ysanne's eyebrows rose when she read the message. "Well, isn't this interesting? I'll take this in my office," she said. The aides nodded, and scurried away to their stations.

Ysanne's office was a smaller room than most of the officers of her rank, and made smaller by the large amounts of information and weapons Ysanne stored in the bookcases. Some things were legal; most were not. But no one dared question her about them. Over one wall hung a flag with the insignia of the Imperial Intelligence Division. It was the first flag ever made for the division, one that Palpatine had given to her himself during his far-too-brief reign as Emperor.

The screen on her desk clicked harshly, letting her know that the files had finished transferring to her machine. A level five encryption, it said, and Ysanne set her computer about to translating the message. It had come from one of her spies, specifically one stationed on the _Executor_.

Ysanne's spies were well organized and experts in subterfuge, especially those working behind the backs of Thrawn and Vader. She felt little remorse for resorting to trickery to retrieve sensitive information from the Emperor and his pet. After all, they felt little need to inform her about critical facts.

Such as Mara Jade. The only reason Ysanne knew about the former 'Emperor's Hand' was because of her spies, and her information regarding this strange position was unacceptably small. This was especially true considering Ysanne was in charge of monitoring the flow of information, _and_ considering that this Mara Jade was supposedly privy to the most sensitive information in the galaxy. How was she supposed to work against a force she knew nothing about? Yet she knew that, in order to hide their blunder in letting this woman defect, Vader and Thrawn would place the blame on Imperial Intelligence Division for any information that Mara Jade revealed.

Thankfully, she had found out quickly – already, Ysanne's agents had caught more than a dozen attempts by outside forces to infiltrate their systems. Though the information about the perpetrators was inconclusive, none of the attempts had succeeded, which to Ysanne was a form of success.

Ysanne's fingers drummed a tuneless melody on the wood tabletop. She had put finding Mara Jade near the top of her priorities, though she made sure that word of it didn't reach Vader or Thrawn, since the two still believed that Ysanne knew nothing about her or any of the other Hands.

The progress bar finished, and Ysanne opened the decrypted folder. Inside was a single document, and from the size, couldn't be more than a few lines. The fact surprised Ysanne. She had expected a more substantial message, even if it was just information about the Beta Source that she already possessed. Besides the Beta Source, she had informed her spies to investigate more about Mara Jade, as well as figure out what Vader and Thrawn were up to in their free time that was consuming an alarming amount of the military budget.

The file opened.

Ysanne read it, and then read it again. The document was the list of people suspected of being the Beta Source. Ysanne had all of the names memorized, but the spy had added one final name to the list; the name, and nothing else, as if the spy understood that the addition was so virulent that any other information would be completely forgotten.

_Director Ysanne Isard_.

* * *

When Isard burst from her office ten minutes later, the agents, aides, and security personnel nearby took an involuntary motion away from the Director. Her hair was a mess, her jacket half-undone, and she had fragments of plastic multicolored chips resting in her hair. She was panting heavily, and those that were close enough to see into the woman's office saw that every item had been overturned or destroyed.

They quickly offered her a stiff salute; to their relief, the Director briskly stomped past them and towards the central room, fragments of wreckage flying from her hair to land like plastic rain in her wake. As she went, she buttoned up her jacket and straightened her hair, regaining most appearances of sanity by the time she reached the main floor of the Central Room.

"Give me an update," she said to a group of distracted aides crowing around a computer screen.

"We have evidence for, I mean we've-" one of the technicians started to say, but lost his train of thought when he saw the fury still burning in the Director's mismatched eyes.

"We have detected secret communications between Senators Viru Samposith and Baodoo Vorbe's concerning a coup against the Emperor," the red-marked Kiffar agent said. He pointed to the screen. "Our spies have confirmed audio and written messages between the two."

Ysanne nodded. "Bomb Samposith and Vorbe's' estates. I don't want any survivors."

"Madam Director?" the Kiffar man asked, surprised. "But won't that kill their families? Wouldn't it be best to arr-"

Ysanne's balled fist leaped out like a striking serpent, backhanding the Kiffar with such force that his feet left the ground as he flew backwards. His head slammed into the hard black floor with an audible _crack_ as he landed, seeming even louder through the shocked silence of those standing around them.

Blood slowly leaked from the unconscious Kiffar's nose, dripping to land in scarlet puddles on the glossy black floor. For a long moment, no one moved.

Ysanne took a slow step over to the Kiffar, prodded his leg with her boot, and with another blur of unexpected motion, leaned down and smashed her fist into his face again.

"Are there any other objections to my orders?" Isard inquired with deadly calm as she straightened, blood dripping from her knuckles.

With alacrity born from fear, the rest of the technicians hurried to their tasks.

"I'm ordering the strike now!" a technician blurted as he shoved an officer away from his computer, typed in a series of commands, and pointed to the screen, which showed the redirection of four cruisers to the planets of the two senators. "They'll arrive in two hours and bomb their estates as ordered."

Ysanne's lips stretched into a smile as she stepped over to the computer. The technician scooted out of the way, allowing Ysanne the opportunity to check the machine to ensure that what he said was accurate.

"Very good, Ensign," Ysanne said, placing her bloodied hand on the boy's shoulder. He flinched, which caused her to smirk. She motioned with her head to the Kiffar boy bleeding on the obsidian insignia and said, "I only punish those who disobey me, Ensign. But you were very good to do what I asked. What's your name?"

"Oren Tantell, sir," the pale-haired man said, quickly regaining his courage. "From Ghorman."

"You did well, Oren," Ysanne said and turned to address the rest of the quiet inhabitants of the room. "Learn from him, all of you." She clapped Oren on the shoulder. "His behavior is what I expect from every member of Imperial Intelligence."

The wide-eyed agents nodded weakly and murmured compliments. A few managed to clap.

"If there's one thing we cannot let ourselves do, it is be unfaithful to the Empire," Ysanne said to Oren. "It is what separates us from the scum who plague this galaxy."

The ensign nodded stiffly. "I understand, Madam Director."

"I know you do, Oren. Otherwise you wouldn't have done what you did."

Ysanne glanced over at the sprawled body a few meters away. He had been left alone, as the remaining agents had kept to their quiet positions out of the way. The Director clicked her tongue. "Good agents are hard to find, Oren." She motioned to the unconscious Kiffar with a dismissive wave of her hand. "That man held the rank of Lieutenant. It's your position now."

Oren's face paled. "Thank you, Madam Director," he said, then suddenly remembered to stand and give her a salute.

Ysanne saluted back and placed her hand one more time on his shoulder. "You won't betray me too, will you, Oren?"

"No, Madam Director," Oren shook his head, and quickly added, "Long live the Empire."

"Good."

Ysanne cast a disdainful glance back at the prone form of the Kiffar. "Remove that," she snapped, then turned and headed up the stairs to her office.

Just before entering the doorway, she glanced out from the catwalk. The shell-shock had worn off of the agents by now. A handful of men tended to the Kiffar who had disobeyed, using a hastily fetched stretcher to take him down to the infirmary. The rest resumed their positions at their stations. She made a silent note of the agents that remained diligent about their work, and the slight few that stumbled about in a state of delirium.

If there was one thing she was not about to tolerate, it was weakness, and those displaying it would be expunged from the agency.

But for the most part, the agents performed as they needed to. The one that had rebelled had been weak, too focused on moral standards to understand the severity of their work. The rest, those that continued in their work without delay, understood that weakness and disobedience could not be tolerated.

_Or were they obeying me?_ Ysanne thought. They weren't obeying the Empire, or even Vader. They were obeying _her_, her rules, her governance, even when the legalities demanded less stringent repercussions for wrongs. They obeyed her even when everyone else said not to, because they knew she wasn't weak.

She entered her office, making her way gingerly over the fallen furniture, twisted metal, and broken glass to her chair and sat down to think. Her computer was completely demolished, but the message from her agent continued to pour fire into her ears.

What had she ever done to make Vader think she would betray him? Despite her opinion that the 'Invisible Emperor' was being a poor leader, she had stood by Vader's side, and taken more abuse from him and his lackeys than she had tolerated from anyone else. What evidence did he have to even think she was aiding the Rebels besides a list from a supposedly trustworthy source?

By now she was convinced that the list of Beta Source candidates was a fabrication. Whatever person Vader had trusted to deliver the information was captured or dead. If Vader couldn't see that, he was weak.

And weakness needed to be expunged at all costs.

Ysanne smiled as she glanced over at the flag hanging on the wall, the only item in the office that had remained untouched in her rampage. If Vader was too weak to do the things necessary, then she would remove him and take over herself. It was just what her Palpatine would have done, what he _had_ done with the bloated, corrupted old Republic.

There was no reason she couldn't take over, Ysanne realized. She had an extensive spy network, one capable of piercing even Thrawn's supposedly impenetrable shroud of secrecy. The majority of the military officers respected (or at least feared) her more than Vader, or could be bribed onto her side. The rest could be easily taken care of, and replaced with others.

Ysanne's mind raced as she began to pace around the room. She could count on at least four Grand Admirals to side with her. She could also count on two Moffs, and she knew that a third Moff held a personal distaste for Vader that could be used for her advantage. More than a third of the military officers would side with her immediately, and the Senate-

The Senate.

She froze in her tracks. She had forgotten about the Senate and their rules. As much as it pained her, she knew she needed them if she was going to succeed in her plan.

But she also knew that, if she went to the Senate Rotunda and demanded allegiance, they would have no qualms about turning her over to Vader or shooting her right then and there. And even if she did take the time to speak to each representative and convince them to her cause, it would be a waste of time, especially considering her lack of patience with the science of politics. She would need help with them.

Ysanne scowled. She hated where her mind was going.

But if she was going to get anywhere with her plan, she would need to ask _him_ for his help.

* * *

The office of Sate Pestage, Grand Vizier of the Empire, was lushly furnished, extravagantly displaying his vast wealth. It held a menagerie of unusual artifacts gathered from across the Empire, such as statues, paintings, vases, and ornate furniture to hold the Vizier's books, papers, and treaties. Some of the items, Ysanne knew, were gifts from the more prestigious of Sate's contacts; others were acquired illegally by blood or bribe; they all suited Pestage's flair for the unusual. Despite their differences, all the pieces somehow fit together, as if the sheer unbalanced nature of the items was enough to weigh out any unpleasant aspects of the arrangement.

The chairs furnishing the room were likewise luxurious. Sate's table and chair faced away from the window, giving the visitors to the Grand Vizier's office the constant view of the Senate Rotunda through the glass-window wall. A single chair had been brought out for Ysanne's arrival, though Ysanne knew that more of the chairs could be added if the number of visitors increased.

The chair was overly comfortable, conforming to her body to she settled her weight into it. The fabric itself was soft to the touch; as she waited, sorting out the mixed bag of emotions and technicalities of the plan in her mind, she found herself rubbing her fingertips over the armrest.

The doors swished open behind her; she moved her hands to her lap, but stayed seated, staring firmly at Sate's empty chair while the Grand Vizier and his entourage strode boisterously into the room.

"I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long," Sate, dressed in an elegant outfit befitting his title, said as he entered, grinning with geniality comparable of arsenic. He was more than twenty minutes late, but Ysanne smiled back as pleasantly as custom demanded. She'd allow him his little act of defiance. The upper hand would return to her in no time.

"What can I do for you, Miss Director of Imperial Intelligence?" Sate asked as he settled himself into his overstuffed chair. The head of the ornately carved throne loomed more than three feet over his head, giving Ysanne the amusing impression of an infant child lost in his father's chair.

Still, Ysanne presumed that the dozens of protrusions and knobs riddling the side of Sate's throne were merely facades over a plethora of weapons. Conflict could not always be resolved with fancy words or false promises; sometimes, as it was for Ysanne, hands had to be bloodied for results to be seen.

"You sound unhappy to see me," she replied.

Sate's face was darkened in the shadow of the chair, but his dark brown irises against the pale skin pierced her like the recesses of space. "I had to cancel my meetings with several perturbed politicians to arrange this 'emergency' meeting with you, Miss Director. I hope it is worth it."

"You'd miss out on an opportunity to talk to me?" Ysanne said with a fierce ironic grin.

"I'd imagine a Rancor holding a more pleasant conversation than you, Miss Director." Sate motioned to an aide; the girl, a fair-skinned beauty in her late teens, scurried over and handed the Grand Vizier several forms.

Ysanne raised an eyebrow.

"If you are going to interrupt my busy schedule, the least you can do is allow me to handle several simple items," Sate insisted. He glanced between the two pieces of paper, then scribbled a malformed line across the bottom and handed it to a second aide before taking another form from the girl. "I assure you, it will not disturb my attention to you in the least."

"Let's hope so," Ysanne said, more irritably than she would have liked.

Sate's hands paused, only for a fraction of a second, an indistinguishable motion for most people. But Ysanne knew how to pick up on the nuances of human behavior. He had been offset by her remark, she realized. But he left her no time to evaluate further.

"Why have you demanded my attention, Miss Director? I can only hope that I am not going to be interrogated for any of your investigations."

"As if you could produce enough of a disturbance to interest me," Ysanne replied.

"For which I should be eternally grateful. Or perhaps, disappointed? After all, I hear those who feel the touch of your interrogators feel pleasure in nothing else. Those who feel your hand most of all."

Ysanne smiled and picked at the dark, dried blood caked under her fingernails.

Sate glanced over another form and scrawled his name illegibly at the bottom before exchanging it for another. "But surely, you've come for a purpose other than to have us shoot spears at one another. For that, we could adjourn to the Grand Convocation Chamber. There you'd have the company of hundreds rather than a single old man."

Ysanne smirked. "Yes of course. But such a conversation would be best kept between your ears and mine."

"Hm, is this missing a page?" Sate motioned to his aide for her to check. The girl zipped eagerly to the Vizier's side, and glanced between the pages on his desk and in her hand, and then pulled a page that had gotten lost in the bottom of the stack. "Oh, you are a dear," Sate smiled and stroked her pale, flawless cheek with his finger. She blushed and smiled, then stepped back to the other aides.

"Grand Vizier Pestage," Ysanne snapped.

"Hm? Oh yes, I apologize," Sate said and snapped his gaze back to Ysanne. "What were we talking about?"

Ysanne's hands clenched into fists, and she scowled darkly at the Vizier. "I'd like to speak to you alone," she said bluntly and motioned with her head to the aides. "Tell them to leave."

"Don't you trust my advisors?"

Ysanne clenched her teeth. "Of course," she replied stiffly. "But loyal men are hard to find nowadays, and those who hear things unwittingly often find themselves vanishing in the middle of the night."

Sate shrugged. "Men are a decicred a dozen. One just has to know the right pressure points to make them into loyal men."

"Perhaps," Ysanne replied. "But even you must realize that time is not so easy to come by; even your aides must learn how to hand you a paper to your _satisfaction_."

Sate smirked and gave a faint wave to the white-faced aides shrinking away from the conversation. They nodded in relief and hurriedly left.

"I presume that my staff is considerably safer now," Sate said as soon as the doors had sealed the two alone. "Perhaps now we can resolve the little differences we seem to be having."

Ysanne smiled and, after quietly folding her hands in her lap, said plainly, "I am going to kill Darth Vader."

Ysanne knew she had nothing to fear in telling Sate this. He had more blood on his hands than hers, and he knew she knew this. They had held this stalemate since each of them had risen to power; it had developed, in its own way, into a kind of twisted alliance, in that Sate was one of the few Ysanne could count on not to betray her.

Still, she was somewhat unsettled by his mask, which remained unshaken by her statement.

Sate chuckled lightly and leaned back into his throne. "Your bluntness is a welcome change around here," he said. "As piercing as a dagger to the heart."

Ysanne scowled and waited for Sate to continue.

He stared at her a moment. "My my, aren't we ambitious? Kill Vader?" The Vizier's lips pulled back into a wide smile, stretching the weathered skin so far she thought it would tear.

"And yet not surprised?"

"My dear," Sate leaned his chin onto his hand, "you had your own father murdered. And it's common knowledge that you hold Lord Vader with less respect than him. To be honest, I'm surprised that you haven't attempted it earlier."

Ysanne held her head up proudly. "Disobeying my master was not my desire."

"Though you'd dare dethrone his successor now."

"Vader has grown weak," Ysanne snapped. "He lets the Rebels roam free, he never deals with those who betray him, he adheres to a weak order, and he is obsessed with recovering that bastard child of his. He doesn't deserve the honor of being Palpatine's heir, not anymore. Surely, in having to deal with the 'Invisible Emperor,' you've thought as such."

Sate leaned back in his chair. Hidden in the shadow of the sunlight, the man's face quickly lost most of its distinguishable details.

"And I take it you believe you have what it takes to rule this Empire," the shadowy form asked. "As Supreme Empress, I presume?"

Ysanne grinned. "Sate, do you doubt my ability to rule?"

"Your ability to cow the idiot masses into subservient obedience is unmatched in any quadrant of the galaxy. I only doubt your ability to deal with the more respectable rabble in the Senate."

"The Senate-"

"Is a necessity, even for an Empress," Sate interrupted.

"Palpatine would never have let the Senate last as long as it has."

"But Palpatine is not here, and Vader has made the mistake of leaving the Senate in place, and so we will have to move that much more carefully when we take over."

Ysanne raised an eyebrow, but she revealed her canines when she spoke next. "'We', my dear Sate?"

"I assume you have some place for me in this new world of yours, if only because you deemed fit to warn me of your future plans. And I believe my position would be exceedingly higher than this current one, if only because of my necessary talents."

"I could assign you to cleaning the refuse from the ground levels of Coruscant and no one would care."

Sate Pestage grinned. "But _you_ would." Before Ysanne could object, Sate lifted a slender hand to her. "A lifetime in politics has made me a master of reading others, dear Director. You've maintained your fierce countenance, but the fact of the matter is that you _are_ still sitting here, despite all I've done to aggravate you." When Ysanne scowled, Sate's own smile widened. "Which indicates to me that you are willing to suffer almost anything to win my support."

The chair flew out from behind Ysanne as she bolted to her feet. "I don't need you," she snarled. "An uncultured, scaly Gamorrean scum who rolls in his own-"

"Careful how you use that tongue of yours," Sate interjected. "One day you might find yourself choking on it."

Ysanne slammed her fists down on Sate's table and leaned over the wide wooden top until she was nearly nose-to-nose with the Grand Vizier. "My tongue is the least of your worries, Vizier," she said through gritted teeth. "Instead you might want to consider the barrel of a silencer while you sleep in your bed."

To her infinite annoyance, Sate's countenance remained utterly placid, and for a long minute, the two of them locked stares, raging in a silent, delicate war of wills.

"If you are going to be Empress, you'll have to learn to manage your temper," Sate said finally. His words came out barely as a whisper, but in the dark silence sweltering the office, it resounded like a choir of drums. "Even Palpatine learned to show restraint."

Ysanne nodded slowly.

"I expect to maintain my position as Grand Vizier. Of course, I'll let the public face of power be yours," Sate said. "As delightful as it would be to clash heads with one equally as black-hearted as me, I fear such a struggle would leave us both with nothing but an empire of ash-covered worlds to rule."

Sate motioned to the overturned chair. After a second's hesitation, Ysanne backed away and resumed her seat. While she did so, the Grand Vizier tapped a long finger against the wooden tabletop. "I believe Ars Dangor would side with us," he said after a moment of deliberation. "He will require more surveillance than most, but he will still prove a valuable ally. Sly Moore perhaps, but she is so entrenched with monitoring Vader's young Sith that she might be too distracted to be of any use."

"I never liked that Umbaran," Ysanne remarked. "It'll be good to finally get rid of that old hag. As far as the military goes, I've estimated the rough number of Grand Admirals and Moffs that would side with me. It is more than a fair percentage."

"As is the general consensus in the Senate." The Grand Vizier's dark eyes focused on the table and his fingers tapped the table. "Few of the politicians hold any love for Vader. Most of the rest will simply balk if we apply the right pressure. Something I'm sure you could assist with, my dear."

Ysanne smirked. "I doubt you need my help in getting your hands dirty, Sate. But I would certainly appreciate the opportunity to show an Emperor's true strength."

Sate grinned. "Of course. Now if you excuse me," he motioned for the door, "I must request that I be allowed to adjourn our meeting until another time. I have a meeting with several senators regarding their questionable loyalty to Vader."

Ysanne chuckled. "Vader may be Emperor, but the Empire is not his to command. Not anymore." She stood and straightened her jacket. "I will inform you when I need you next. Until then, it would be best to know exactly how many of the senators and planets could be swayed. I will monitor the military."

"Very well," Sate said. "Wait!" he called just before Ysanne made it to the door. "If we are going to be allies, I would like to know one thing."

Ysanne cocked an inquiring eyebrow.

"Knowing you as I do, I have no doubt that you would have attempted to overthrow the Emperor eventually. But I get the feeling that your current motion towards anarchy was not spurred on by your lust for power, but rather, by a personal wrong. So my question is this: what was it exactly that Vader did that could affront the ice-hearted Director of Imperial Intelligence into mutiny?"

Ysanne scowled. "He suspects me of being a spy for the Rebellion."

Sate's countenance finally cracked, and he stared at her for a minute in disbelief at what he had just heard. Then he threw back his bald head and laughed, louder than she had ever heard him laugh before, a chilling sound that haunted her down the hall, past the legions of dull-faced aides and politicians, and into the cockpit of her shuttle.

* * *

Three full weeks passed before the small group of a dozen men and women of various races met in the seclusion of a meeting room deep within the bowels of the Imperial Intelligence Headquarters. The room was untapped and unmonitored, and the members had all arrived without any trace, having made up viable pretenses for their simultaneous absences.

It was a plain room of white walls, empty except for a long metal table covered with datapads, papers, holograms, and photographs.

"How many of the Grand Admirals have we confirmed?" Ysanne asked.

"Five of the twelve so far. We're not counting Thrawn, of course," Yekkr Em'Orth, a Zabrak Grand Admiral said, and circled several names on a list. "At least four more are likely candidates."

"At least Echir Blanche as well," Natasia Vorlcan added. She brushed some graying hair behind her ear, then flicked a minute spot of dust from the shoulder of her white uniform. "Vader nearly killed him after Blanche was defeated by the Rebels a few months back. He's been trying to find a way to get revenge ever since."

"He's a wild card, but he'll serve his purpose," said Ysanne. "Afterward, we'll see how loyal he is."

The two Moffs present nodded in agreement. "Most of us are with you. And we've started stockpiling additional weapons, as well as more advanced weaponry that we've been developing."

"I'd advise against it," Tu'Hroshk, a Cerean Grand Admiral advised. "Should Vader find these stockpiles, he will ultimately discover us, and force us to move our plan into action before it is ready."

"We'll need the extra firepower," Gier Kus, one of the Moffs, objected.

Ars Daganor shook his head. "Our plan relies on manpower and timing, not firepower."

"Agreed," Ysanne said. "We cannot run the risk of Vader discovering stockpiles. Not yet, at least. And if we have the manpower, we have the weapons."

The two Moffs, known for dabbling in superweapons, looked disappointed, but nodded in agreement.

"Be sure to gain the support from the corporations in your sectors as well, especially those in the Azubani system. We need control of those shipyards."

"Youan Turi was just placed in charge of that sector by Vader," Gier said. "She's from Kiffu, and is concerned only about keeping the planets safe. If we convince her that we're the stronger force, she'll follow us."

"Some of the planets will be willing to send ships when the time comes, as well as deny Vader's forces access to resupply," said Sate Pestage. "Even if he escapes, Vader cannot hope to conquer every planet in the galaxy."

"Then the meetings with the senators have gone well?" Ysanne asked.

Sate nodded. "Ars Daganor and I have confirmed allegiances with several of the more vocal dissenters. We will continue to rally your supporters, though it will take time to do so without drawing attention."

"Agreed," Ysanne said. She drummed her fingers on the tabletop and brushed her other hand over the list of senators. "It may take over a year before we will be in a position to move. But we _will_ move, and we _will_ remove Vader. And when that happens, I will carry this galaxy into a golden age that hasn't been seen since the height of Palpatine's glory. No," Ysanne said, "even Palpatine's legacy will not be able to cast a glimmer of comparison on this new Empire. We will rule even beyond the Unknown Regions and become the single most powerful entity in the universe."

The members grinned in agreement and offered murmurs of agreement.

"Long live the Empire," Yekkr said, then smiled fiercely. "Or should I say, long live the Empress?"

Ysanne smiled. "In time, my friends, it will be one and the same. And we will be unstoppable."

* * *

Coruscant never slept, was the saying. When the sun died at night, the lights of offices, aircraft, and nightlife rose to supplant the void of darkness and spur life on until the cycle could be repeated.

The Imperial Intelligence Headquarters was one of the few buildings that didn't offer beacons to the night-dwellers of Coruscant. There were only a few stripes of red flashing lights running up the sides, and these were only to ward off unmindful pilots. It was difficult to see any details of the building, and thus virtually impossible to see a dark, unmarked one-man vessel latched between the building's jagged contours.

That, of course, was why Darth Nova chose that spot to spy on Ysanne Isard.

Bathed in the cockpit's scarlet instrument lights, Nova listened intently to the conversation unfolding in the heart of the Intelligence Headquarters Building. The Starkiller had done extensive research on the Director of Imperial Intelligence over the past few weeks, mostly by analyzing her work, since placing monitoring devices inside of the Headquarters Building was difficult, even for him, due to the Director's obsession with perfect security. He had only barely managed to place a listening device on Grand Admiral Vorlcan before she had entered the dark walls of the Imperial Intelligence Headquarters a few hours previous. Even then, the link between the listener and his ship was incredibly weak and threatened to cut out if he moved too much.

But it was enough. By the Force, it was enough for him. Nova's blood surged, and his mind raced with the now attainable vision of becoming Emperor. He had always intended to overthrow Vader; it was the way of the Sith - the _true_ Sith, not the self-denying path of Vader - for an apprentice to destroy his master. His only unresolved issue had been how to maintain control over the Empire when Vader's influence ended. But now, with Isard already planning her own coup, Nova knew that his only requirement to become Emperor would be to step in and take that control from her. The rest would fall into place on its own. He was, after all, the most powerful being in the galaxy. Who could stand against the man who had murdered a pair of suns with only his own mastery of the Force?

The members of Isard's conspiracy offered a few last comments and began to disperse. Nova pressed a control and the transmission cut off; the device he had dropped in the Grand Admiral's hair, no bigger than a water droplet, disintegrated into a whiff of ash that could never be traced back to him.

With a final triumphant laugh, Nova detached his craft from the side of the building and began his ascent back to the black recesses of space.

When he entered hyperspace, Nova sorted through the files gathered on Ysanne and deleted or altered any information that would indicate her as being a traitor. He would send his report to Thrawn, of course, though it would say that Ysanne Isard should be discounted as a potential Beta Source candidate. In fact, he might even make a comment about her diligent service; with such praise coming from his trusted apprentice, Vader might give her additional power, and thus speed up her plans to become Empress.

Well, so that _he_ could become Emperor, Nova corrected. Isard would submit or be destroyed, but he, the Starkiller, Darth Nova, Dark Lord of the Sith and Emperor, would be the one to rule the galaxy into a golden age more spectacular than any it had ever seen.

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Editor's Note: As I said last chapter, this oneshot was written by Silverwolf05, and I acted as beta reader/editor, in a bit of a reverse of how it usually goes. I think she did an awesome job, don't you? Well worth the long wait, which was completely my fault, since my laptop finally died for good on me and I had to wait to get a new one.

That's it for this collection; all that's left now is for me to finish '_One Missed Strike, Part III_' and post it. If not for an interminably long period of me being without reliable computer access, it would be done already, but as it is, I expect to finish before long. Till then, thanks to all for reading!


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